Forbidden Love
by OtsukiOkami
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is in love with Francis Bonnefoy. But the duties of a nation is heavy burden to carry. A deep rooted hatred burns through the hearts of their people. And in a war between England and France, Arthur must over come his people, and a part of himself, to be with the one he loves.
1. War

Happy two year anniversary everybody!

This is the re-written, re-edited version of chapter 1 of Forbidden Love, the first fan fiction (and completed story) I ever wrote - first written in December of 2011. I've grown a lot as a writer since then and I wanted to improve this, because honestly, it was horrible. I look back at the first chapter and just shake my head in shame. And wow, Arthur was cheesiness on wheels, not to mention he had little to no character development and was completely helpless. But, I've come to fix that! So, yay for improvement! I may or may not re-write every single chapter, but here's this one.

(Oh, and I'd also like to note that I'm not a history major and I have a vague idea of England and France fighting over America in the early years… or was it America fighting France while under England's rule? Because I do know that France owned parts of what is now America, and the whole 'Louisiana Purchase' thing. Whatever. Just disregard everything I say as fiction.) And from what I understand a natural blue rose is basically impossible so yay for fiction/magic!

Oh! I almost forgot the disclaimers! I don't own Hetalia or its characters. I also don't make any money doing this either! And this is in no way meant to be offensive. (I'm both British and French myself so that gives me enough permission to hit below the belt… right?)

Enjoy and happy reading!

Forbidden Love

Chapter 1

War

…

The proud and glorious nation of England sat in his large plush armchair, sipping tea and enjoying the peaceful afternoon. The chair its self was ancient. It's red and gold pattern was faded, but England liked it that way. It reminded him of the old days, when it was a simpler, more civil time. He was drinking his favorite tea, Earl Grey, while reminiscing on those past sunsets. He remembered when he first met America. It was a day very similar to this one. A nearly cloudless sky as the sun was setting in the west, and the horizon was painted a dazzling red, orange, and purple. He remembered how brightly America smiled when he was little, how happy he was, and how upset he was when England had to fight France for ownership. Those were bloody battles.

America came running up to him one day, carrying his bunny named Freedom, crying. When England asked him what happened he was more than distraught when he heard that 'A scary Frenchmen' kept bugging him for his land.

"Damned bastard..." He muttered into tea cup, remembering the many battles he fought France for America.

And that memory triggered the memory of the Hundreds' Year War, and the Napoleonic Wars, and the Breton War, and the Vexin War, and the Anglo-Norman War, and all the other wars he had to fight because of that sodding, wine chugging idiot. All the aggravation he caused. All the stupidity he inspired. How many years he had wasted battling him over and over again. Oh, how he despised that man! And thus another peaceful afternoon for England was ruined, once again, by France.

"Bloody hell!" England exclaimed, slamming his tea cup onto its saucer. "Does France have to ruin every happy thing I have? Just thinking of him makes me want to punch that pompous face of his! He even poisons my memories, the damned frog faced… " He continued to mumble into his half drunken cup of tea until he had stopped grimacing.

Putting his tea down and getting up from his chair England stormed into his kitchen where the back door was, knowing he wasn't going to have the relaxing afternoon of sipping tea and reading Shakespeare he wanted. He turned off the stove where his kettle was whistling, queuing him for what was going to be his next cup of chamomile tea.

He unlocked his backdoor leading to his backyard garden, letting the door fling back and forth behind him until its springs had calmed and come to a halt. He walked over to his rose bushes, a place where he could usually forget his troubles and thoughts, while getting wrapped up in the delicate pruning and adoration of his well cultivated flowers. This year, the fine year of 2038, England had finally attempted to create the blue rose. Through he had yet to yield the fabled blue flower his efforts weren't completely in vain. He had created a somewhat blue-ish purple bud, which was pretty close. And more over, these hybrid flowers attracted his magical winged friends! Yes, more and more fairies were coming to the garden to bask in the beautiful rose bushes, which England had appropriately named the 'Fairy Rose'. He hoped that one of his friends would show up so that he could talk to them and get his mind of the blond haired man plaguing his thoughts.

And indeed after about an hour of pruning, watering, and weed whacking the sun had set, the stars were shining and England heard his name being called by one of his fairy friends.

"England! England! Oh I'm so glad I found you!" A glowing blue light came from just outside the forest that was behind England's house. "It's me! Ariel! Carissa told me to come get you! She said it was urgent."

As the blue light flew closer to England he saw that it was Ariel, a light fairy whom he hadn't seen since 1855.

He instantly stood to greet his friend, "Oh, Ariel! It's so nice to see you! How have you been? I haven't seen you in centuries! You're looking wonderful! Did you do something with your hair? What do you think of these roses? I'm trying to create the blue rose, but as you can see I haven't gotten there yet. Do you like them? They're named aft-"

"England!" The little blue light fairy interrupted frustrated. "Please! Come with me; Carissa – _the time fairy_ – needs to see you! It's incredibly important!" Ariel fluttered over to England's head and began to pull at his hair, trying to get him to follow her.

"Alright, alright!" He said chuckling.

Ariel flew over to the forest behind them, looking over her shoulder to see if England was keeping up with her feverish pace. Soon they reached the end of England's garden and the outskirts of the woods. Ariel flew up to a particularly thick patch of trees, raised her tiny arms up into the air and parted them swiftly, dividing the trees with her magic to reveal a dirt path hidden behind them.

"Amazing!" England exclaimed, "What did you do?!"

"It's a portal to our hideaway! This way quickly!" Ariel cried, her little wings flapping furiously in the wind.

England's heart was filled with excitement. He quickly copied Ariel's fast pace. Looking to his sides as he ran through the thick groves of trees and bushes, England spotted small and strange looking mushrooms and flowers growing at the sides of the path. They seemed to glow. As they moved further, small glowing flowers sprouted the earth floor mixing with the strange mushrooms. The forest became darker with every step they took and the mushrooms and flowers shone brighter and brighter. Soon he could see that they shined a fluorescent blue. As they walked further into the heavily over grown woods the luminescent plants became greater in number until the entire forest was lit up by their blue shine. Finally Ariel came to a stop in front of a giant oak tree. Ariel flew up to it and knocked on a small door, the size of a fairy, in the middle of the moss covered oak.

"Carissa! Carissa! Hey, listen! It's me, Ariel! I found him! Hurry up!" England had a hard time listening to the light fairy's words, for he was lost in the unbelievable sight before him.

In front of him stood this magnificent oak tree covered in the most beautiful plants he had even seen. The blue luminescent mushrooms and strange looking flowers flourished at the base of this mighty oak, climbing up it and standing horizontally on its old dark brown bark. Vines from each surrounding tree and bush had grown and attached themselves to the giant mother tree. Moss and flowers grew on these vines, petals dripping down from them like rain. The tree's leaves were such a stunning deep emerald green, a shade of which England had never seen on a leaf before, so vibrant, so deep, and luscious. England felt as if he had come stumbled across some kind of royal hidden palace, stowed away in the depths of a forest only letting a select few into its midst.

A loud click of a lock opening brought England's attention back to Ariel, who sighed in relief. "Finally!" She said then turning around to face England. She frowned her brow and bit her tongue as she focused deeply. Then waving her arms up and down, swirling and cascading, she said, "Okay England, this may or may not hurt."

"Wait what?!" England screeched, being forcibly taken away from the sight of beauty he was admiring. "How much hurt?"

"Well if you'd quit moving and let me focus I won't burn your face off!" She shouted, her cheeks blushing in frustration.

England then proceeded to stand as still as physically possible in fear of a fiery fairy induced death. Suddenly Ariel's eyes began to glow and England's hair began to float as he was enveloped into a sparkling blue light, which he could only assume was Ariel's magic. Ariel held her breath and puffed out her cheeks as England began to float in the air. Struggling to raise her arms as if she was lifting a ton of bricks, England began to shrink. The already huge oak tree became larger and larger to England's eyes as he became smaller and smaller. Finally, after what seemed like forever for Ariel, he was the size of a nymph and the exhausted fairy let out a long held breath. As soon as she did though her magic had stopped and England fell from where he was being held midair.

"Oh no!" As quick as she could Ariel flew over to England and was thankfully able to catch him before he hit the ground, fracturing his now two inch spine. "Well, that was a close one…"

But, England was much too happy about this whole thing to care about being dropped the equivalent of 50 some-odd feet and almost breaking his neck. All he could think was, "This is amazing!"

Ariel puttered back over to the door in the tree and kicked it open, her hands being quite full at the time. Huffing and puffing she said, "I'm here!" promptly dropping England on the floor of the time fairy's house.

"England…" Carissa said affectionately, "I haven't seen you in so long, how you've grown..."

England looked up. Across the room of this hollowed out tree sat an old but beautiful fairy. Her long and white hair shown like the silver moon which hung in the night sky with grace and beauty. Her bright blue eyes, which glimmered like the sky, were the same shade of azure from the luminescent mushrooms growing outside. Her ears were pointed at their tips and her cheeks were dusted with the pink blush of nostalgia as she looked onto her old friend. She rose from her seat and walked to England's side.

"Carissa?" England asked his eyes wide with shock. "Is that really you?"

The fairy nodded softly, "Yes, it's me. It's been a while hasn't it?"

"It's been ages! I haven't seen you in centuries! Where have you been all this time? Oh, look at you! You look exactly the same as when I first met you." And it was true. The ancient time fairy had retained her youthful beauty throughout the years of her long life. Her long silver hair flowed and shined with the same brilliance as it did nine centuries ago. Her face was smooth and pale as her bright sapphire eyes shown with the same kindness and wisdom.

"I can't say the same as you England. Look how you've grown!" Carissa smiled with such joy as she looked upon her dear friend. It had been so long since she had seen him. And she had looked for him for so long. She spread her arms, offering a long overdue hug to England. He gladly took it. "I remember when you were just a little thing, always romping around in the forest with France, you two are so alike-"

England's face stiffened with resentment and he pushed away from their embrace to sneer, "I am nothing like France! He's a piss drinking asshole and worse than filth! I will never be like him!" He yelled, clutching his fists and slamming his foot down onto the floor, sending a commanding _bang_ throughout the entire home.

With that sudden outburst of rage Carissa's face fell. Her smile melted and turned into regretful frown. Her calm and happy disposition turned into one of grimace.

Her stance changed and her eyes flashed of a brief second when she ordered in an arresting voice, "England!" breaking him from his rage induced trance.

With that England shook his head lightly, blinking and confused. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry about that." He said rubbing his head. Those outbursts had been coming to him more and more often lately. "I don't know what came over me. But enough about me! How have you been?"

Looking at England standing next to her, memories of the past struck her like a baseball bat she didn't see coming. She couldn't help but smile. England was her very best of friends and she had been waiting for this day when they would meet again for so, so very long. England saved her life in so many ways. They had known each other for so many years of their lives. So many stories they shared, so many memories, so much time, so much of themselves. Carissa took in a long breath and sighed. For as much as she had yearned for this day, she dreaded it just as much.

For this was when they would say goodbye.

"England my dear, though there is nothing else I could wish for more than to talk with you endlessly, there is a something that I _must_ tell you… And I'm afraid it is much too important to delay any further."

"What do you mean?" England asked raising his eyebrow in question.

"Please, take a seat. There is much I need to discuss with you."

Carissa brought England over to the end of the room where a table and two chairs made of wood lay. They were old and looked like they hadn't been used in a long time. As England sat in the chair opposite Carissa he began to remember where they were. It was the table and two chairs he had made for her when he was just a child; he was only 206 years old when he made them. They were a birthday present for her two hundredth and sixteenth birth day. He spent a whole week making them and did his very best to keep them a secret from Carissa. He remembered the shock and joy on Carissa's face when he surprised her with the fairy sized table and chair set.

She said, "_But, why are there two chairs?_"

And with his childish grin he answered, "_One's for you and one's for me! When I grow up I'll be a powerful wizard and I'll be able to shrink myself down to your size!_" That day they spent the whole day in their favorite field of flowers, laughing and playing together.

Smiling at the memory he asked, "So, what is it you need to tell me?"

Carissa looked into his eyes deeply in despair, "The world is in danger England, and I fear that all life itself will perish."

"What?" He asked, his voice rising along with his alarm.

"I've travelled to the future and back, and soon there will be a great war that ends this world and all life within it."

England's eyes widened in shock, "What?! How can that be? Who did it? I demand to know!" England took Carissa's word as gospel. And he was not about to let someone end the world on his watch!

Carissa sighed heavily, how was she supposed to tell him this? Her best friend, her oldest friend, and her most beloved friend how was she supposed to tell him that…

She moved her hair away from her face and looked deeply into England's eyes with great despair. "It was you."

"…Me?" He asked bewildered.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was going to destroy the world? Why? He would never do such a thing. He loved the world! But this was Carissa talking, the great ever wise time fairy. She was his oldest, most loved, and trusted friend. She would never tell a lie.

"Yes, you."

"Well there must have been a reason for it!" He argued vigorously, his hands gesturing through the air in distress.

"No, there isn't." Carissa answered remaining quiet and somber.

"Well there must have been something! There's no way I would end the world! Especially for no good reason!" He protested. "Carissa, I've known you since I was a boy and I've always trusted you, but this are ridiculous!" Carissa could hear the distain, anger, and hurt in England's voice.

"England!" She screamed, her temper finally giving out. She stood and slammed her fist down on the table below, "I went to the future and saw it with my own two eyes! You destroy everything! And the only reason is to rid of France!"

"What?!" None of this made any sense. Of all the reasons to destroy the world, why would it have to do with France?

"You're a country, England." Carissa closed her eyes and sighed, "You're genetically made to follow your people's will. You have little to no choice on how you feel or react with varying scenarios. Your genetic make-up changes due to your people. You're predisposed to like what they like, hate what they hate, and feel what they feel. It's what you are. You are a personification of the people of England. So you must have no control over your actions, right?"

England looked at Carissa's remorseful face. "Carissa I don't understand." He said shaking his head in confusion, "You're telling me I'm going to kill everyone! What does that have to do with me being a nation? And what do you mean 'I have no control over what I do' that I'm 'predisposed to what my people think'? I'm not some kind of robot, programmed to do what I'm commanded to!"

Carissa immediately stood, took hold of England's shoulder and brought him into a close embrace. "Of course you're not!" She said holding him tight, "You make decisions and you live your own life. You think for yourself and make your own decisions. That's who you are, because you're human! When you cry, when you feel immense sadness, shame, guilt, remorse, and pain, you are Arthur. When you feel overwhelming happiness, unbound joy, incredible pride, overpowering laughter, and true love, you are Arthur. That is Arthur Kirkland, the man who lives as England. That's the part of you that makes up _you_. The part of you, you know as you. But… but, you also have another side, you're nation side."

"You're burdened with the duties of a nation. You must protect your people by any means necessary. Even if that means you must kill... from hundreds of years. You have to endure that. And no man could ever go through hundreds even thousands of years of such pain without losing their sanity. That's why Mother Nature created nations… They are a culmination of the people will to withstand that pain. But at the loss of their freedom and their emotion. During a war you are England. England fights, England kills, England is the people. He is there so that you can retain your humanity. So in a sense, there are two of you: England – the personification, and Arthur – the human."

"So, you're saying I'm two different people?" He asked taking a step back from their embrace.

"No, you are one in the same but… It's very complicated." Carissa rubbed her face and sighed heavily, trying to find the right words, "Try to think of it like this, the both of you have had the same experiences and memories, and of course share the same body. One of you who is influenced solely by your people, and one who has free will. Every nation retains a human side, though yours has grown weaker than you nation self."

"But I-"

"I know it's confusing but please just listen." He nodded. "Have you been extremely aggravated lately?" She asked in concern.

"Well…"

"Especially when talking about France?"

"Why are you bringing that fucking asshole up?!" He raged standing from his seat again and slamming his fists onto the table in front of him.

Carissa raised an eyebrow and gave him a shrewd look, "See?" She said.

England cleared his throat and sat down quietly.

"So you hate France, yes?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I hate that fowl smelling, no-good, alcoholic, perverted, lazy, inconsiderate, fucking –" With each passing word England became more and more enraged until his blood boiled with disgust, his face red in fury, and the urge to kill growing and becoming very difficult to resist.

"_Arthur!_" Carissa roared, commanding him to stop. She stood slamming her fists down on table creating a loud _bang_ to echo across the room.

England blinked and shook his head, "Ow…" He said rubbing his forehead. He felt like he just came out of a strange daze.

"Why did you call me by my human name?" He asked sitting back down in his chair carefully, still feeling dizzy.

Carissa dusted off her dress and sat down as well.

"Well," she said placing her hair away from her face, "that's where we get to the next bit."

Carissa breathed out, "Let's see," she said trying to find the words, "I guess I should just say it bluntly… You're in love with France."

There was a long pause.

England frowned his brows and looked out the corner of his eyes in both confusion and thought.

"No… No I _hate_ France." He said slowly. "Yeah, no, I'm pretty sure I _hate_ him!" The sarcasm practically dripped from his voice and spilled onto the carpet.

Carissa laughed, "I'm not joking." She said with a hidden smile, "You really are in love with him."

England looked at Carissa in both shock and disgust, "You can't actually be insisting that I love him?! I despise him!"

She chuckled a bit, "No, of course _you_ don't England. Your people hate France's people and thus, the personification of the people of England will despise him… But you have another side, remember?" She said, the scheming in her voice echoing.

"That side of you, who has his own will and makes his own decisions, loves him."

Utter dumbfounded-ness was plastered across England's face, "Why?" He asked almost helplessly.

Carissa shrugged, "I don't know. You never told me."

England covered his face with his hands. He was so confused. He didn't understand a thing. What was Carissa talking about? Loving the one man he hated more than anyone else? Destroying the world? He was two different people, but the same? A long silence cloaked the room.

Carissa looked to her distressed friend out of the corner of her eyes, "Do you want to ask him?"

"What?" England asked looking up.

Carissa crossed her legs and sat back in her chair, "Because of your people's ludicrous and drastic opinions, you haven't been able to 'connect' with your human self. I can use my magic to bring him out."

At this point, he did really have much of a choice. He nodded slowly. "…If you think that'll help."

"Sit up straight and try not to move." Carissa ordered, "Prepare yourself. This is going to be painful." She warned.

And with that Carissa stood, closed her eyes, and began so breath slowly, calming her mind. Raising her hands slowly she began to recite the spell, "_May the strings of fate, which bind your soul and restrict your mind unchain and scatter! Replica made by man, bound and unwilling, remove yourself and let us see the true soul which lies underneath you!_" As her arms ascending slowly, Carissa began to glow gold and sapphire. Great winds blew her long silver hair back and forth.

A burning sensation began emitting in England's heart. It was dull at first, but as the spell went on the pain grew. He tried to bear it but soon he screamed out in agony.

Despite the wails of pain Carissa went on, "_You, who have been trapped within your own mind, take my hand which is offered to you in kindness, and release yourself! The chains which bound you to lies and restriction have been broken! You are free!"_

As each word was spoken the excruciating heat accelerated. His chest felt like it was being ripped open. Muscles and tendons were being split from the inside out as his heart burnt like fire. It felt as if he was being torn apart be a wild beast.

The air was heavy, he could barely breath. Wind blasted through the room, tossing and tumbling. Under Carissa's feet strange and foreign writing that glowed brightly with Carissa's words. Carissa, now floating in the air, her hands raised fully, her hair swirling in the wind, and her voice booming, recited the last line of the spell.

"_Now! Speak Arthur!_" And with that Carissa's eyes shot open. He gasped as air had rushed back into his lungs. In a single moment the pain was gone, and what replaced it was relief. Slowly Carissa descended from where she had been floating. Her azure eyes now glowing crimson red.

"Arthur. It's good to see you." She greeted lovingly, as she would a long lost friend. "You have finally been freed from the pits of your subconscious. Feeling okay?"

Arthur groaned. His head pounding, "Carissa?" He asked weakly.

"Hi." She said waving her hand enthusiastically and smiling.

"Ugh, what just happened?" He asked rubbing his head and looking around the room.

"Arthur I need you to listen to me and trust me. Please, this is important!" Carissa begged as she prepared herself to explain everything she just said all over again. She really didn't want to him asking stupid questions she already answered thrown at her, but she knew she had to and that she had little time.

She took in a long deep breath and spoke like her life deepened on it, "Okay, so you know how you're the personification of England?"

"Yeah."

"And your people make up your personality, beliefs, and opinions?"

"Uh-uh."

"But you have a will of your own?"

"Yep."

"Well, that's called your 'human side' and when your people or government go a little nuts you're able to nudge them in the right direction?"

"Yes."

"Well, your people went completely insane and pushed your human side into the subconscious of your mind. The person I'm talking to right now is purely your human side, the part of you that has complete free will and isn't influenced in any way by your people."

"…Okay."

Carissa took another quick breath, "Okay, so in the future your people's hate will boil to a point where they will be willing to start an all-out war with France. In the process of trying to literally wipe France off the face of the Earth you destroy the entire planet, killing everyone. And because your people have gone _so_ bat-shit crazy you, your human half, can't do anything to stop them."

Though Carissa's voice was at an almost comically fast paced Arthur was able to ascertain what she was saying. When his mind caught up with Carissa's words Arthur's eyes widened in shock. "I'm just going to kill everyone?! There's no way we can stop it?"

Carissa took a moment and paused. She looked at Arthur, smiling. He was just told such an insane and completely improbable story and yet trusted her without any hint of doubt; that was the Arthur she knew. She sighed in relief, "Yes there is a way, because you're in love with France."

Arthur's ears pulled back and his face tightened, blushing a bit. "W-well, it's not like I _love_ him. I mean he's my very close friend and I _guess_ if I had to choose someone he wouldn't be the _last _person no Earth I would pick… But you know, I mean I've known him since childhood and he's really nice when he wants to be and… Oh, you know, whenever I'm down he's always there to pick me up and make me laugh even if it's at his own expense and…" With every passing word Arthur became more and more aware of how unconvincing he sounded. And finally decided to admit it. …But, only to Carissa. "Okay how did you know?"

Carissa smirked. "Because can I cheat. I can travel through time and one of the timelines I saw was that the war had ended because you had become strong enough to overpower your people's will, due to your love for the nation you were fighting." Though Carissa was thoroughly enjoying talking to her old friend, she knew that this spell wasn't going to last forever and she had a duty to fulfill.

"Arthur, I'm afraid we cannot go on with idle chat."

"You call the end of the world idle chat? Jesus, I'd like to see your schedule." He said rolling his eyes.

Carissa laughed, "Witty as always, dear friend. But, I must tell you this. Please listen carefully."

Arthur looked into Carissa's eyes, still glowing crimson, and saw the significance of her meaning. He nodded, solemnly. "In order for the human side of a nation to grow stronger is to live in harmony with their people. When there is prosperity and kindness the human side and nation side mesh, and you both become stronger, more connected, and gain more will."

Arthur looked to Carissa with worried eyes, "But, we're fighting _against_ my people! They've gone insane! How am I supposed to connect and become one with them when I _don't_ want what they do, which is blowing up the world?!"

"There is another way. In a time like this, when a nation must fight against their own people, their own government, or themselves, the human half retreats into their subconscious of the mind to regain strength… Quiet a brilliant little thing Mother Nature came up with."

"So that's what we need to do?" Arthur asked. "Send me into my subconscious so that I can regain strength?"

"Yes. And hopefully you will gain enough to overcome your people."

"That is the only way?"

"…Yes."

Arthur face was consumed in thought, "And if it doesn't work?"

"Then all hope is lost. You will become an unstoppable monster and destroy the world."

"But, wait!" Arthur looked to her almost frantically, "You said that you came back from the future! You said that I stopped my people because I realized my love! You so that with your own eyes! So we have nothing to worry about, right?" He insisted. He didn't want to believe this, even though he knew what must happen.

Carissa looked to Arthur and sighed wearily, "That was from one _possible_ timeline. You of all people should know that 'time can be re-written'. …I also saw a timeline in which you destroyed the world with this war. I came back in time to ensure – no, to _help_ you make the right decisions."

"So that's it? I go into my subconscious and try to remember why I _don't _want to kill France?" Arthur asked looking into Carissa's glowing red eyes, her hair flowing around her. She nodded.

"My dear friend," Carissa said with the kindest, warmest smile of motherly love and worry painted across her soft pale face, "I fear this is our one and only chance. If you do not overcome your people's will then, we're all fucked."

They couldn't stop themselves from laughing. No matter how dire the situation one of them just _had_ to crack a joke. If they didn't, then they'd surely cry.

"Well then," He said smiling as he puffed out his chest, trying to act brave, "Wish me luck."

Carissa looked to him, her eyes beginning to flicker from crimson to teal. The golden-sapphire glow surrounding them was dimming. They didn't have much time left.

She was silent. Her face twitching as she forced herself not to cry. She didn't want to say goodbye to her friend, her very best of friends, but she knew that this might be the last time she would ever see him. She had to say goodbye. Her eyes were changing. The light that engulfed them was fading. And Carissa's magic was waning. She knew that she only had moments left before her strength gave out and the spell was completed. Her upper lip was quivering and her eyes were welling up on the brink of tears Carissa whispered, "Good luck… and goodbye my dearest friend."

Arthur smiled a sad smile. "Goodbye Carissa."

And with that Carissa lifted her hand above her head and spoke one last time, "Please, remember Arthur. Keep fighting; never stop fighting for love!"

She cast down her hand with one final stroke and the spell was cast, sending Arthur into his subconscious. And leaving the world's fate in his hands.

…

Hate. Rage. Disgust. Fear. Resentment. Distrust. Pain. Regret. Lies. Anger. Threats. Curses. Conflict. All of it filled the world conference room as the country of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the Republic of France stared each other down in pure, unfiltered rage.

"Now, I've called you both here to discuss the war." America announced, looking at the opposing nations. "Not as countries, but as friends." America looked to Russia, who was sitting to his left, out of the corner of his eye.

Russia gave a soft nod and America turned to England in distress. This wasn't business, this was _family_. "Artie, this has gone on for far too long! You have to stop this!" He pleaded, his voice filled with despair. For years it was like Arthur had been changing into a completely different person. Seeing his best friend turn into something so cruel, so angry, so sad, it broke Alfred's heart.

"Shut up, America!" England shouted through clenched teeth, his eyes flaring in anger. "Know your place!"

"Know my place?!" Alfred rebelled, "If you two go through this you're going to kill us all!"

"I would much rather die than live alongside this filth who dares to call himself 'human being'!" He spat pointing to the furious nation sitting opposite him.

Desperate and hurt Alfred tried to convince England to stop this war in any way he could. "Well, that's all fine and good! If you want to kill yourself that badly then go ahead! But don't kill the rest of us with you!" He begged, "Arthur, please! The nuclear weapons you two have are extremely powerful and incredibly unstable! If one of you were to fire your weapons half the world would be caught up in its destruction at best! Not only will you kill your enemy, but also yourselves! Not to mention the billions of innocent people around you! Arthur if you do this then you're just going to kill yourself!"

England looked to America and snarled in disgust, "As if I would do something as stupid as suicide! Also, I deeply resent the fact that you would think that I don't have the engineering ability and technology to take France out precisely and swiftly. And furthermore I do, _in fact_, have an immense amount of weapons ready _and_ at hand. I have _more_ than enough fire power to take out this abomination," He said turning to France, practically spitting at him with his gaze, "And the rest of the world with me, if I so desired. _However!_" He added turning back to Alfred, "That would be a last resort option, only to be taken place if another nation got involved in _our war_." He said, slamming his fist down on the desk in front of them.

England looked straight into Alfred's eyes and hissed, "If I'm going down, he _will_ come with me!"

This was a threat. And Alfred knew it.

He sighed. This war of threats and terrorizations had been building up tension for over a year, and both nations were hitting their boiling points. Alfred looked to Russia through the corner of his eye and lightly pointed toward the door. "I'm calling a five minute recess." Alfred and Russia rose from their seats and stepped out of the conference room, while the other two nations stayed behind.

"God!" Alfred said exasperated, rubbing his face in frustration, "Can you believe him?" He asked turning to the silver headed man beside him, "I think he's actually going to kill _everyone_ just to kill France!" Waving his hands around in the air, Alfred paced up and down the hall as quickly as his legs would take him, trying to burn off the bundled up anxiety he had to hold in during the meeting. The building was empty and the rooms were soundproof, so Alfred had no qualms with yelling at the top of his lungs. Ivan and Alfred had spent so much time there over the years it was more like another home for them.

When Alfred didn't hear the immediate response he was expecting from Ivan, he turned to see Ivan's concerned and thought entwined face.

"You know," Ivan said frowning, "The way England blew up just then reminded me of you when you accused me of the 'Pure Violet Russian' plan in 2087… I saw the same rage in his eyes, but without the concern you had for my people."

Alfred's pacing stopped and his face fell as he sighed. The 'Pure Violet Russian' plan. The memories of that time still felt like a knife in Alfred's heart. Every time he thought of that guilt washed over him like the crashing wave of the ocean.

"Ivan, I'm so sorry…" He said, his head lowered and his voice quiet.

"Alfred?" Ivan asked, broken from his train of thought.

"For everything… I let you get hurt. I could have lost you… Y-you could have died! I'm so sorry."

Ivan looked onto Alfred's defeated figure. "Stop it." He said sternly placing his hand on Alfred's shoulder, "Don't blame yourself for something _I_ did." Ivan brought up his hand from Alfred's shoulder to his face, stroking his cheek gently, "If it wasn't for you… I wouldn't be standing here, by your side." Alfred looked in to Ivan's eyes. They were soft and kind, his true eyes. They were the eyes he fell in love with.

A stupid grin tugged at Alfred's lips as he looked up at Ivan's gentle smile. He chuckled and pulled Ivan into a hug. "Aw, shut up you big lug! You're making me feel all sappy!"

"I love you Alfred." Ivan whispered.

"Thanks for always being there for me. I love you too…"

…

"You disgusting, filthy piece of shit! This time I will rid of you once and for all! You unloved fucking bastard, everyone will be better off with you dead and gone!" England shrieked, grabbing hold of France's collar and bringing his face to his.

"_He's been my best friend ever since I can remember. But, I've always fought him. Always hated him. I don't want to hate him. Come on you stupid asshole, wake up already!_"

"Get your hands off me!" France snared, batting away England's hand. "How dare you?"

"How dare I? How fucking dare _I_? You are the most atrocious excuse for a human being I've ever seen! All you care about is yourself!"

"What?!" France shouted, his face tensing in rage.

"You are the most manipulative piece of shit I've ever known! You should have killed by the Nazis when you_ surrendered _to them!" England dug his fingers into France's chest as he growled menacingly through gritted teeth, "While I fought with my _life_ to keep Europe safe!"

"_He had to surrender; he wasn't prepared. None of us were. But even after he surrendered, there were underground armies. He still fought for what he knew was right. That's more than I can say about myself…"_

At that, France snapped. "_I died in that war_! My people suffered, and died, and fought, and wept, in that war! Mass murder and genocide! You think I chose that?" His voice was not only of his own, but that of millions, screaming. "I did what I had to, to keep my people alive. I fought, _alone_, while dying in the hands of _monsters_. No thanks to you, 'ally'! You left me to rot!"

Roaring with resentment England took a step forward, forcing France into the wall behind him. "_You_ surrendered, _you_ ran, _you_ were a coward!" Hissing with disgust he inched closer to France's face, "You call people your friends, but the second you think you might get hurt, what do you do? You run! With your tail between your legs like the fucking two-faced dog you are!"

"_He's always been there when I needed him. As allies. As friends. When we were young, alone and afraid, when we had no one to turn to who rescued us from the depths of isolation and loneliness? He did. He saved me. No one else. He is the only person I have truly loved."_

"Enjoy what days you have left of the pitiful thing you call your life! Because I promise," England grabbed France's shirt and brought his face to his once again, "Oh, I _promise_." He growled with all his hatred, "I will make you cry France. I will make you weep." England's eyes burnt with murder. "You won't just die. You will bleed. You will cry out in pain and beg for mercy. I will humiliate you. I'm going to make you surrender. I'm going to make you and your people my slaves. And then, after I have crushed you, down to the fibers of your soul, I'm going to kill you!"

"This means war, like you've never known." France spat right in England's face, grabbed his wrist, and through it to his side like a dirty rag. He had enough of this ridicule. He pushed England to the side and made for the exit, slamming the door behind him.

"_No! You can't go to war! You can't kill him! If dies then I'll be alone again! Who will make me laugh? Who will make me smile? Who will make me happy to be alive? Who will I have to hold when my fears overwhelm me? Who will I have to turn to when I'm hurt? Who you will I have to fill the hole in my heart that has been killing me? Who will love me? Who will I have to love? I don't want this!"_

"Fucking bastard!" England growled, whipping France's spit off his face, "He _will_ die by my hand. No matter what the cost!"

War had begun.

_To be continued…_

Make it stop! Make it stop! Make the terribleness stop! Oh God, I had to go back and read what I first wrote! Oh lord, it was awful! I am so embarrassed! How could I write that and think it was good? Oh Jesus, please don't let anyone find this when I'm published. My career! My non-existent career!

…Oh, hi guys. Sorry about that, just having a little cry in the corner of shame. Nothing to worry about! Hope you liked it! I really had a blast writing this! I'm really proud and extremely happy about all the improvement I've made in the past two years and I hope you guys are too. :]

And yes, Pure Violet Is Killing Me shameless plug is shameless. (By the way go read that shit, it's way better than this!)

Anyway I really like Arthur's - new and improved - character. He's kind of a smug asshole that knows shit's going down but takes it with a grain of salt, cracking a wise joke at any chance he gets, usually at himself. I also see him accepting his fate as time moves on and openly accepts Francis' love for him, along with his faults and attributes. Sort of a, "Well, it sucks to be me but I can't do anything about it, so I might as well make the best of it," kind of attitude. (I don't know if you can really pick that up in this chapter since Arthur has such little screen time, but that's what I had in mind.)

Let's see what else did I change? I made the world meeting scene way more intense and _way_ less cheesy. Changed Alfred and Ivan's scene to better connect to Pure Violet Is Killing Me. It used to be like 1,800 words, now it's 7,000 +. _Super yay on that one_! I kept Carissa the same as she was intended to be in the original, but you can actually understand her character now – Ariel too. The beginning is like an actually story and not just, 'this happened and then that happened' bull crap. So overall huge improvement!

That and Doctor Who reference. Gotta have those.

And again, I don't know if I'll be re-writing the whole thing, or just this chapter, or maybe just a few chapters I thought sucked super hard, or ones that I think would be fun to write again... So if you guys want more tell me and I shall write! (Also the next chapter of PVIKM will be out soon! So stay tuned!)

Thank you all so much for two years of fanfic writing and here's to many more!

…_Remember, reviews make the writer happy! _So review, damn it!


	2. Effects of war

_Chapter 2: Effects of war_

…

"Damn it where is that tomato bastard?" Lovino cursed as he paced through his living room, "He was only supposed to speak with the army general for a few hours; it's been two days, two God damn days! Antonio why don't you pick up your phone?"

Antonio had gone to his army's general to talk about 'drastic actions' in the war. Lovino tried calling his phone, but of course, he never picked up, and that worried Lovino a lot. Even though it took a lot of begging, tomatoes, and poking to get it out of him, Lovino really did love Spain. He truly was made for him. The way he laughed, the way he smiled, the way he loved Lovino, how he held him like a beautiful and rare crystal that was never to be broken, how he treated him so perfectly, he knew Lovino inside out, upside down, and every which way, he knew all the right buttons to push to make him smile, it all was so perfect.

"Fuck you England," Lovino thought, "How dare you take me away from my _marito_?"

Lovino and Antonio had actually gotten married, in the year 2112! It was a total shock to the rest of the world, well other than Feliciano. But if that didn't shock you enough it wasn't Antonio who proposed. It was Lovino!

Antonio didn't see it coming at all! Lovino had asked him to go out to dinner. Antonio was a bit reluctant though, because he knew that his boss was having a very important meeting with someone that evening. His boss told him something about "The country being changed forever!" And he didn't want to leave Lovino in the middle of a date in case he was called in. But Romano used his pouty face, and Spain just couldn't resist.

Romano took him to the fanciest restaurant in all of southern Italy. And he had arranged for a V.I.P. private room. The whole room was covered in carnations and roses. And there was a beautiful and romantic Spanish tune lingering in the background. And the lighting was dimed and sexy, and the whole aroma of the room was intoxicating. (France did up the whole room) After they ate their exquisite Italian food, Romano got down on one knee and said, "S-Spain…"

"Yes Lovino?" Spain still didn't suspect _anything_, even with Lovino asking him out for dinner, (which he never does) and the private room, and the flowers, and the music, and the lighting, and the aroma; he was such a ditz sometimes.

"Well, Antonio I-I love you…" Lovino said shakily.

"Of course you do Lovi~!" Antonio beamed with his usual joy.

"No, I mean yes, I mean… DAMN IT ANTONIO WILL YOU MARRY ME?" Lovino blurted out, holding out a blue box that cushioned inside of it a beautiful diamond ring.

"W-What?" Antonio asked **completely** off guard.

"You heard me bastard…"

"Oh, oh Lovino!... Of course I'll marry you!" Spain screamed as he slammed himself into Romano's arms, kissing and saying, "I love you! I love you! I love you!" over and over again.

And then in the year 2112 South Italy and Spain married and became one nation of Spamano! But then this war… DAMN THIS WAR! Antonio had to get involved, he was allies with France; they'd been friends since forever, so he couldn't just stand by and not attack that 'No good, beer snogging, caterpillar eye browed idiot', France's words not mine. And somehow he had convinced Lovino to agree to getting involved in the war. I believe he said, "We might as well point our guns too. If one fires anyway, we're dead!" Such a melancholy thing to say, and yet Antonio made it sound so cheery…

But the adding of their guns didn't help, I guess England felt the same. What's a few more guns? So Antonio went to see the army general to talk about sending in troops. Lovino kept thinking "If only Feli let me keep the mafia this could have been over in two days…" Two days, two damned days with no contact.

All of the worst thoughts were going through Lovino's head. "What if he's been killed? What if he's been kidnapped? ** WHAT IF HE'S CHEATING ON ME?** What if it's with _France…_"

"I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF YOU WINE-BASTARD!" Lovino screamed as grabbed his shotgun. He slammed open the door, only to find Antonio collapsed on the door step. "Antonio?"

Antonio lay silent on the door step, unconscious. His hand was clutched to his stomach, which he bleeding profusely. Lovino dropped the gun and bent down to Antonio, panicking.

"Antonio? Oh my God! Can you hear me?" Lovino's hands were trembling. He tried to touch him, but he was too afraid that he would hurt him; but he needed to get him in the house. He reached his right arm under Antonio's legs, and his left arm under his back. Gently and slowly he lifted him. Fear covered Lovino's face as he looked at Antonio. He looked so broken, so fragile. Lovino got him inside covering himself in blood in the process, and placed him gently on the couch. The moment he was secured Lovino dashed to the phone and called Prussia. Antonio said if anything happened to him, that included guns, to call Prussia.

"Gilbert speaking."

"PRUSSIA! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE NOW!" Lovino screamed with all his force.

"Damn Romano if you keep screaming at me like that my awesome ears are gonna go def-"

"ANTONIO'S BEEN SHOT!"

"…I'll be over in five minutes. Keep the wound clean," *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Lovino ran back to Antonio and bent down to inspect him. Antonio's shirt was covered in blood, so Lovino ripped it off right down the middle. He examined Antonio's beautifully sculptured chest and stomach, which was smothered in a sleek coating of red blood. His hair was dirty, and his green eyes were covered by his long eyelashes. Lovino got up and fetched a wet wash cloth, and started cleaning the blood and dirt from Antonio off. Once he was done cleaning him Lovino's adrenalin started to wear off, and he started coming back to reality.

"God… He's been shot," he thought, "Oh my God. What if he dies? No… I can't lose him. I'm going to die if he does. NO," Lovino shook his head trying to shake off the awful thoughts, "I won't let that happen. I'm not going to lose him! I'm not going to lose the only person who loves me, and the only person I love."

Prussia burst through the door screaming, "WHERE IS HE?"

"Over here potato bastard two," Lovino grunted lacking emotion.

"Do you know who did it?" Prussia asked.

"No, is he okay?" Lovino asked cautiously, fear pricking his eyes.

"Yeah, he'll live, but he's not going to walk or fuck for a while," Prussia sat by Antonio and the rest of the time Prussia worked in silence until he was thoroughly satisfied in the safety of his friend. "If anything else happens, or if the wound opens up again call me."

"Thank you Gilbert. You can stay here if you want," Lovino offered, wanting Prussia as easily accessible as possible.

"Thanks, but I have to go somewhere. Don't worry; the second you call I'll be here. I won't let Antonio die. Trust me."

"That's a pretty hard thing to do…" Lovino said, some of his spark coming back.

"Lovino, I've been Antonio's friend for centuries. If he can trust me, you can."

"Ugh…" Lovino and Gilbert turned to look at Antonio; he was beginning to wake up.

"ANTONIO!" Lovino cried as he attached himself to him.

"Lovino?" Antonio asked as he tried to sick up, "ARG!"

"Don't try to sit up! I don't want to do all that again!" Prussia shouted.

"Gilbert? What are you doing here?" Antonio asked.

"You were shot," Lovino said as he sat by Antonio's side.

"Oh, right," Antonio looked down to his feet.

"Do you know who shot you?" Lovino asked.

"Yeah, it was Ireland; England doesn't want us to be sending in any troops. And this," he pointed to the bullet wound, "was a threat."

"What? Why doesn't he want us doing that? This is the first time he's been in a war!" Lovino asked confused, and completely pissed off that England sent Ireland to shoot Antonio; oh he is going to get something shoved up where the moon don't shine…

"England wants it to be all or nothing," Antonio explained, looking defeated.

"Hey, that's great," Prussia interrupted his face lighting up, "now we know his weakness! If he doesn't want troops send in the troops! And there we hav-"

"NO!" Lovino screamed as tears dropped from his eyes.

Eyebrows raised Prussia asked, "Why not?"

"I'M NOT GOING TO LOSE YOU," Lovino buried his head into Antonio's chest.

"Lovino," Antonio patted Lovino's head trying to comfort him, "Gilbert's right. We should send in troops."

"NO! If we do he'll kill you! I can't lose you."

"Lovino, this could be the only way to stop England. And if we don't stop him we're going to die anyway."

"No, you don't understand," Lovino sobbed, "If he fires the bomb we die together. If we send in troops he'll only kill you. I'd rather die than live without you!"

"Honey," Antonio coaxed, lifting Lovino's head and looking into his eyes, "we are nations. We have to do this for our people."

"Fuck our people!" Lovino shouted and made the most soul crushing, heart breaking, eye shattering, mind demolishing, innocence killing, evil smashing face he could conger up. Antonio sighed a very heavy sigh and took a minute to think with his brows turned down, and eyes dark and deep in thought.

After a while of silent anticipation Antonio said, "Okay my little tomato. We won't send in the troops. Gilbert," Antonio looked over to his lifelong friend, "I'm out of the war. Take care of things for me, _amigo_?"

"Of course! Everything will turn out awesome!" Gilbert looked at the clock, "Ah! I've got to go! Call me if you need my awesomeness again!" And with that he left.

Lovino looked deep into Antonio's eye's, green like the grass that grew on top of his countryside's fields, and sparkling with passion like the passion that dwelled within his people's hearts. Antonio's fluffy brown hair gently caressed his face, like how a child hugs his teddy bear. Antonio placed his sun tanned hand on Lovino's cheek and lovingly stroked it. He drew Lovino's head to his and softly kissed his lips.

"_Te amo mi amor._"

"_Anch'io ti amo._"

Gently sitting up Antonio brought Lovino's face in again, this time for a much deeper kiss. He moved his lips on Lovino's, as if they were dancing. He entangled his hands in Lovino's hair, lightly tugging it. He moved his tongue along Lovino's lips, requesting access. Opening his mouth and letting Antonio explore it, Lovino moaned. Their tongues clashed for leadership, and even with a bullet hole in him Antonio won the battle once again. Lovino didn't mind though, he was a bit busy. His hands couldn't resist caressing Antonio's bare chest. His chiseled chest was a masterpiece, a work of art, his stomach was just as magnificent, tanned and soft and firm. Knowing that Antonio was all his made Lovino moan and cry with joy.

As their kiss became more passionate Antonio moved one of his hands from Lovino's hair to run it gently down Lovino's back reaching, then squeezing his behind. Lovino frowned as he realized Antonio's condition. He pulled away and said, "Wait Antonio, you're hurt."

Antonio frowned as well, "But that doesn't mean I can't kiss you." He leaned in again but Lovino moved his head to the side, looking to the ground.

"Antonio," Lovino asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you think there is a heaven?"

"Shouldn't you know that Lovi? You are the one with the Pope," Antonio chuckled.

"Oh come on, you know I'm the worst catholic in the world. I swear all the time, I never go to confession, or church, I don't think I've ever said 'please' in my life… Antonio, I'm asking you as a person, not a nation. Do you think when we die we will be together?"

Antonio smiled, "Of course we will Lovi! I love you!"

_To be continued…_

…

THANK YOU SO MUCH to the people who favorited and commented and alerted! It means SO much to me. Next chapter we'll be going back to our main couple! I hope you liked the Spamano reference! XD

*PLEASE* R&R! Tell me what to improve, what you like, what you don't like, anything!

Translations:

_Marito_ = Husband

_Amigo_ = friend

_Te amo mi amor_ = I love you my darling

_Anch'io ti amo_ = I love you too


	3. In love?

***PLEASE NOTE*** When I say 'said France' or 'said England' etc. that means that the _**nation**_ is speaking/thinking. When I say 'said Arthur' or 'said Francis' etc. that means the _**human**_ part of them is speaking/thinking/doing etc. Also when it the _**human**_ think/saying it will be (mostly) italicized. Knowing this will enhance the reading experience. Thank you.

_Chapter 3_

_In love?_

The sun's blaring light shone down on the city of Paris. The rays of light yearned to kiss the people of France, but the city of lights was not as it once was. It was no longer the bustling, vibrant city it used to be. The streets were bare compared to the streets of two years ago.

France was walking through the heart of himself, Paris. Due to almost all of the Parisians fleeing the city, because they knew that Paris was most likely the place to be bombed first/most, France's capital's economic situation had gone to the gutters. With his fists in his pockets France strolled down the cobble sidewalk. He looked to his left, where all the little shops and cafés and boutiques were, and he spotted an English pub, an extraordinarily rare sight in France with the hate toward all things British.

"What?" France thought shocked, "Who the hell authorized this? There is no way in hell I have this- this THING in my country, my capital none the less!" So France decided to check it out, maybe set the place on fire…

When he walked inside he saw that the whole place designed like a classic English pub. How stupid was the guy who set up shop here? France looked to his left to see the bartender polishing a glass. The bartender said, "Hello there mate, welcome."

France sat down cautiously on the bar stool facing the bartender with a quizzical look on his face, "Quite the bold move having an _English_," France practically spat the word, "pub in Paris."

"Yes," the bartender sighed, "many people have called me crazy." He laughed, "Now that I think about it I'm not quite sure why I decided to go through with the mad plan!"

"Plan?" France asked.

"Yes, I had this mad idea that if I set up shop in France I could show the French that the British are not so bad."

"Ha! That's not sane!" France hollered at the thought.

"Yep, needless to say it didn't really work," the bartender said casually, France had expected him to throw a fit yelling 'bloody' this and 'bloody' that like England, but he didn't; he stayed calm and un-defensive, "You see I judge people on their actions and choices, not on where they were born or what they look like," he stopped polishing the glass, "oh sorry, I've forgotten to ask for your order. What can I get you?"

"What do you recommend?" France asked, feeling curious.

"I've got to say 'The Queen's Gin' is the best drink I've got. I've got to keep it locked up so I don't down the stuff... that and people have tried smashing it because it's British. But I do have some red wine if you'd prefer," the bartender offered; he had enough experience with Parisians to know that they wouldn't want anything to do with the U.K.

"No, no," France said, "I think I'll try the 'Queen's Gin', see what all the fuss is about."

The bartender got out a key and opened a locked cabinet door and took out the gin. He poured it into a beer glass, sealed the bottle, put it back in the cabinet, and locked it shut. As he passed the beer to France he said, "Jack by the way."

"Francis."

Picking up another glass to polish Jack asked, "So what brings you in here? As you might guess I rarely get anyone in here so I'm curious."

"Same as you, curious," France answered.

"Now Francis, I know we've just met," Jack said leaning on the counter top, "but what's your stance on the war?"

France put his drink down and looked at Jack, "That's a bold question to ask."

"I don't have many people to talk to. I'm desperate for conversation," Jack smiled, "So what do you think?"

"What do I think?" thought France.

"_What do I think?_" thought Francis.

"I think this war is… terrible" Francis said, "What's so wrong with Arth- England?"

"Well my God, I can't believe I've found someone who's French that has some sense… are you French?"

"More than you know _mon ami_," Francis chuckled, "Do you want to know what I wonder though?" Jack nodded, "What I wonder is: why do the English hate us?"

"I don't know," said Jack, "maybe all English are fools… Ha, look at me, saying 'don't judge people on were they're born'. I'm being hypocritical!"

"He calls- uh, they call me- _us_ perverts, wine snogging bastards, and 'wankers', and smelly, and weird, and crazy, and horrible, and terrible, and awful. I just don't understand!"

"Neither do I, friend," Jack sighed. Frances phone rang; he put down his drink and answered it.

"Francis Bonnefoy speaking," Francis said into the phone.

"France!" the woman and the end of the line shouted, "Get over here now! It's extremely important!"

"What is it Louise?" France asked, knowing it had to do with the war.

"I can't speak over the phone, not safe, come here and I'll explain."

"I'll be coming immediately," France hung up the phone, grabbed a wad of cash from his pants pocket and chucked it on the counter, "I've got to go," he said running to the door.

"Don't you want your change?" Jack asked.

"Keep the change!" Francis yelled as he ran out the door. He popped his head back in the door and said "It's been a pleasure!" He ran out again and spotted a taxi and called it. Once he got in he yelled "To the Palais de l'Élysée! NOW!" For all France knew England could have fired the bomb! He was at the Palais de l'Élysée within a few minutes.

France ran through the door and saw the Louise Antoinette- the president of France- pacing back and forth.

"Has the bomb been fired?" France asked terrified.

"No. Not yet," Louise said biting her nails.

"Than what is it?" he asked a bit confused.

"I've just gotten a call. We'll be getting some information soon, and from what I've heard it has something to do with England launching the bomb."

"Was that the information?" France asked.

"No, the men who we sent to get it called me. They insinuated that a bomb was going to be fired."

"When's the information coming?"

"Soon, you should rest and prepare yourself. We must prepare for every scenario. This information could be true, it could be forged. It might be a threat. It could be false information given by England, trying to get us to surrender."

"I'll be in my office." France walked up the stairs and into his office.

"England you son of a bitch…" France thought as he paced through his office, drinking wine as he went. He kept thinking about bombs being launched, the people dying, the children, all the loss, the radiation to come afterwards if anyone even survived, it was all too much. "UGH! I can't think straight. I've got to get my mind off this."

France decided to look at his photo album. He hadn't looked at in in years, he hadn't even thought about the old things in years. So he dug through the piles of paper in the back off his wardrobe and fished the old _**faux**_ (France loved animals) leather photo album. He sat down on his huge red chair behind his desk and opened the album. The first picture was a painting- back in the day they didn't have cameras- a painting he drew of England as a young nation holding his bunny. 'Chibi' as Japan would say.

"_Ah yes,_" Francis thought as a small smile crept upon his face as he remembered the old memory, "_I remember when he and I were so young. We were so cute. When we were young we never fought, now that I think of it I really miss those times."_ He flipped the page. The next picture was a painting as well. It was of England, when France gave him a haircut.

"_Why did you get so mad at me?_" Francis thought, "_I know you grew out your hair because you wanted to look like me."_

"Who wouldn't?" France thought arrogantly.

"_But then you didn't like it so I cut it a differently, you still didn't like it so I cut it back to the way it was. You did look at your best that way. But I ended up making you madder at me than ever. Why? Oh that's right I mocked him afterwards. Sorry…_"

He flipped through the pages looking at the painting he'd drawn. None of them stood out until he came upon a painting of England in his pirate days.

"_I remember those days. You ruled the sea with a pirate's grip. You were so dominate, so out-going, so sexy back then…" _

"Wait, what am I thinking!" France thought to himself, blushing furiously; he quickly turned the page, another painting of England. It was of him in a field of white roses, the wind was blowing, and his hair and clothing were being tossed and turned, and he was holding out a single red rose. He was looking straight at you, so if you looked at it, it looked like he was giving it to you, well what was meant to be France.

"_I remember dreaming that. When I woke up I painted it, just how I fantasized. When was the last time I dreamed of him? I think it was before the war,_" Francis gently turned the page. It was another painting of England. He was lying in a green field, with his back to an oak tree, and he was sleeping peacefully.

"_I remember. I went for a walk and spotted you like that._" Francis gazed at the painting admiring England's sleeping figure, "_You're so beautiful when you sleep England, all the stress is gone from your face. When you're like that you really are you. When you're you when you're like that, aren't you Arthur? It makes me so happy to see you like that. I love you like that. _"

"W-W-WHAT AM I THINKING?" France slammed the book shut, "I don't like seeing him!" he shouted, "I hate him! The only time I'll be happy seeing him is dead or being tortured! I'm calling Gilbert."

He picked up the phone and call Prussia, "The awesome Prussia speaking!"

"Ah, good Gilbert your home; I need to talk."

"So do I Francis; Antonio's out."

"What?"

"Antonio is out of the war. Lovino doesn't want him getting hurt."

"I see, any luck convincing Germany?" France asked.

"Nope, Italy wouldn't let West do it, doesn't want him to get hurt."

"Figures. I thought we were the 'Bad Touch Trio'! And you've all abandoned me, in my time of need no less!" shouted France.

"Hey, it's not my fault you're the only one without a boyfriend! Antonio's got Romano, I've got Birdie. Sure you have whoever you want that night, but Antonio and I have to stay faithful. Maybe we should disband…"

France gasped in horror.

"HA HA! Just kidding man! I would never do something as un-awesome as that!"

France sighed, "Whatever Gil, I just need someone to talk to me, I've got to get my mind off this war! I think I've been hallucinating!"

"Hallucinating?" Prussia asked.

"Yeah, for a minute I was thinking that I loved- oh never mind. Just talk to me about something! How's your relationship going?"

"It's great! Well other than the constant fear of impending doom… Speak of the devil! Birdie's calling right now! Got to go!" *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

"Well grand…" France thought, "I guess I should stop screwing around and get back to work."

He walked over to his desk and got out his pen.

"If the information says that he is going to fire the bomb then I should fire first, right? But, what if it's fake? Then I should? I have no idea what to do. This has never happened before… " France thought as he tapped his pen on the table.

"_England and I would fight, someone would win, but in the end we'd still be alive. And after a while we'd forget about it, we would even sort of forgive. I never thought we would ever have to fight to the death. Do I really have to kill him? If I don't he'll kill me… But, I can't. How could I kill England? I-I can't; I just can't._"

"Wait what?" France thought slowly, "Why can't I?

"_I can't! I can't do it! I can't kill England! I won't!_"

"No! I have to! I have to kill England! I hate him! Why couldn't I kill him? What do I care? It's no loss… I've got to fire that bomb first!"

"_I'm going to lose him._"

"I'm going to rid of him!" France argued through gritted teeth.

"_I'll never see him smile again? I'll never see him laugh again? I'll never be able to speak with him again. I'll never be able to look at him again, or be with him again, or touch him, or feel him, or love him?_" Francis asked.

"Love him?" France questioned, "Why did I think that?"

"_I love him._"

"Stop that!" France order/begged his mind. He was getting scared.

"_I love him. I love him. I'm in love with him. I love him._"

"I LOVE him?"

France jumped out of his seat and grabbed his head, it was pounding. It felt like it was being pounded into mush. What the hell was happening?

"Why the fuck am I thinking that I love England?" France tried to ask through the splitting headache, "I hate England. I hate England. I hate England! I always have I always will. I HATE him! What is with the 'love' business? Now that I think about it, why did I make all those paintings of England? Why did I dream about him?" He was so confused. Everything was turned upside-down. He felt like someone grabbed him, and shook him into oblivion.

He felt scared and confused. His mind was turning on him. He felt alone, his head was in so much pain. Why? Why? _Why?_

"_Because I love him…_"

It all clicked. Like the whole world was covered in fog and then everything was clear, like the last piece of a puzzle being placed, like the last screw was attached to its machine, everything was put into place; everything was in order. He loved England. It made sense…

"But, why?" …almost.

"_Because he's beautiful, and funny, and kind, and caring, and smart, and strong, and-_" Francis' thought stopped.

"-sexy, and witty, and tenacious, and cute, and crazy, and amazing, and gorgeous, and sweet, and brilliant, and he's perfect." And France's began, "I love him."

France covered his face in his hand in shock. He fell to the ground not able to keep his legs standing. He was shaking. It felt like he was about to be sick.

"I love him."

He loved him? No. He loved him. End of the fucking conversation. He loved him, without a doubt.

He was so confused and then all of a sudden he knew; he knew like he had known it for centuries, like his whole life.

He was in fucking love with England, Arthur Kirkland. He realized it. Everything used to be so grey, and awkward, and hiding, and weird, but now it was a burst of color, and everything felt so right. It was like everything was clear, and France was so _happy_.

He smiled. He actually smiled. He hadn't smiled in years. Prussia was right. He could have anyone for a bed partner, but he was never _truly_ happy.

"England! I love you!" he shouted as he picked up his phone. As he was about to call him he realized, "But I'm in a war with him. Oh God what have I done?" France started to panic, "I'm at war with him, and he hates me… And I love him. I love him so much it hurts." He clutched his stomach, "Why does it hurt so much? Oh, because he hates me. He despises me. He hates me so much, so much that he's gone to war with me. He wants to kill me. _Mon Dieu_! I need to talk to someone." He called Antonio.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* *Beep*

"DAMN IT! ANTONIO STOP FUCKING LOVINO AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" He called Prussia.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! GILBERT STOP FUCKING MATHIEU AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" He tried calling Canada.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! MATHIEU STOP FUCKING GILBERT AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" Well duh he wasn't going to pick up the phone, he already tried calling Prussia. So he tried calling America.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! AMERICA STOP FUCKING RUSSIA AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" He tried calling Italy.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! ITALY STOP FUCKING GERMANY AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" He tried calling Japan.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! JAPAN STOP FUCKING CHINA AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" So he tried calling Hungry.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! HUNGRY STOP DRAWING YAOI AND PICK UP THE PHONE!" He tried calling Austria.

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring* ***Beep***

"DAMN IT! AUSTRIA STOP POSEING FOR HUNGRY'S YAOI AND PICK UP THE PHONE!"

And with that he had run out of nations to talk to. There were no others nations that he could trust. No other nations? What about a human? Well France didn't know anyone he could talk to without them knowing he was a nation, which was a problem. He couldn't exactly tell the President that he was in love with the country they were at war with! Louise wouldn't take that very well…

"Oh come on there's got to be someone I can talk to without them knowing I'm a nation, I've got to know someone... Wait, Jack! Yes, Jack! Sure I don't know him that well but he seemed to be sensible!" France grabbed his coat and car keys, and ran out the door. He drove as fast as he could down the barren roads of Paris, and reached the English pub he visited that afternoon. The lights were still on; it was still open. Yes!

He opened the door and saw Jack standing behind the counter polishing a glass; the place was empty.

Jack said "Welcome," as he kept his eye on the glass he was polishing.

"Jack, I need to talk to you."

He looked up from the glass, "Ah Francis, good to see you. What's going on?"

France walked over to the counter and sat down on the same barstool he sat on before, facing Jack.

"I know we just met today. But I really need some advice."

"Sure thing friend," Jack smiled, "what's the problem?"

"I'm in love with a man who hates me."

"He hates you?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, he does," France hung his head, he felt ashamed. How could he be in love with England, how could he? Was it even possible? His people has always hated England. A nation is made in their people's image, what they liked he liked. What they hated he hated. How they acted he acted. How could he love Arthur?

"Well if he hates you than he's no good for you. If he doesn't like you than he disagrees with your opinions, right? If that's the case than you won't get along. So he isn't right for you," Jack said quite matter-of-factly.

"How am I going to explain this without telling him he and I are nations?" France thought.

"Well you see," Francis said after a moment of thinking, "it's not really him who hates me. It's his family."

"His family?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, you see he is, or should I say _has_ _to be_, very influenced by his family. They hate me, but he doesn't… do you understand? To be honest I don't understand why I'm in love with at all. He's so perfect but, I don't know how it's possible," he said referring to being a nation.

"Yeah I think I get you," Jack nodded, "So how does he really feel?"

"I don't know. There are these few times when he looks at me, as Arthur not Eng- uh not his family. He looks at me so sweetly, and there's this thing in his eyes. It looks like he trying to tell me something, but he can't."

"The first time I saw that was in 2038. He was always acting like England, but his eyes were so different," Francis thought, "like he was yearning for something, like there was something he was dying to say but he couldn't."

"I don't really understand, and I'm not sure, but I think Arthur might not hate me…" he said after his thought.

Arthur? Yes Arthur! That's how he could love him. When a nation is created it is not only created in its people's image. They are also made with a free will, a 'human' side. The complicated thing is that they are not two different people, like someone with multiple personalities. France is _France_, his country, his _people_, but Francis is the human that dwells inside him. Francis' feelings are different than France's because he lives through the same experiences France does, only completely uninfluenced. Francis makes his own decisions, and his own feelings.

That's why he was in love with Arthur. And when France realized that he whispered, "Does that mean Arthur could feel the same?"

"Well I mean it's hard to say whether or not someone loves you on a shimmer in their eye. But, if you feel that strongly about it…"

"No that's not it!" Francis said beginning to smile, "I have a real change. I have a real hope!"

"What is it?" Jack asked shocked at the sudden change in mood.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you. But thank you! Thank you so much!" Francis grabbed Jack's hand and shook it as much as he could, "I'm sorry again, but I must go!" And with that Francis ran out the door, too happy to contain his energy. He didn't even get in his car; he ran the whole way home. With tears in his eyes he thought "I'm in love! I've never felt so happy!" His heart was filled with so much joy. It was about to burst.

"I love you so much Arthur!" He jumped up, "I love you so, so much!" His whole body felt so pure and absolutely glorious. He never felt so good in his life. He was so happy he was beaming.

He reached the Palais de l'Élysée and flung open the door.

Louise looked up from her desk, "Oh France, you're here. I need to talk to you. We have the information. England is preparing to launch the bomb."

The world stopped, "He what?"

"The information we have received says that England is preparing to launch the bomb," Louise repeated.

France almost fell on his face but he grabbed hold of the side of the door way. His legs became limp, and his heart stopped beating. The cruel bat of reality hit him right in the gut. Perhaps that's why he felt like his appendix burst.

"That's what I need to talk to you about," she looked at him with serious eyes, "What do we do?"

Francis' eyes were on fire because he was forcing himself not to cry, "I don't know…" he said shaking.

"Come on France pull yourself together!" he told himself.

"The lab results?" he asked trying to seem professional.

"Still unstable," she said shaking her head in anger, "Our bomb could wipe out those bastards; it could also blow us up, half the world, the whole world; who knows?"

"Where's this information coming from?" Francis asked hoping it was unreliable. He felt like he was fighting for a grain of wheat in a famine. The grain was hope, and the famine was reality.

"I can assure you France this information is quite valid. Though I will admit that I'm not 100% with it."

"So there's a chance this is just speculation?" he asked desperately.

"Everything speculation France," Louise said grimly looking down.

"Well we have to consider every scenario. What if this is false information given by England, attempting to get us to surrender?" he asked desperately clinging to the best case scenario.

"If it is, I'm not going to let this country become slaves to those good for nothing bastards!" Louise shouted slamming her fist on a nearby table.

He didn't want to, he had to force himself to, but he was a nation he had to hold himself together and ask the question he dreaded asking, "But what if this information is true?" Suppressing the urge hurl he tried to stand.

"Then we fire first," Louise said bluntly, "Die or not, I'm not going to let myself, or this country, die from the hands of a damn Brit." She looked to France seeking an answer.

He tried to stay calm, but sweat started to bead down the side of his face, "I don't think we should do anything rash," he tried to mask the desperation in his voice, "How soon do we have?"

"The information said that they were beginning to set up the bomb to be launched. If that is true we have approximately two to three weeks."

France ran his hand through his hair, "I-I have to think about this."

He ran up to his office. He slammed the door behind him, locked it, fell to the floor, and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, until the sun set and the moon rose, he sobbed all through the night.

_To be continued…_

…

_***IMPORTANT***_ Tell me in the reviews what chapter you want me to write next! Do you want a side story like an America x Russia or Canada x Prussia or Germany x Italy (Or any another pairing, tell me want you want!) chapter, like chapter two 'Effects of war'? Or should I go straight to the next chapter of the main story? Tell me what you want in a review! _***IMPORTANT***_ (If no one suggests than I'll do Canada x Prussia)

THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who's favorited and commented and alerted! It means the absolute world to me! PLEASE review and tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what to change, ANYTHING! This chapter is nice and long, so think about what chapter you want next!

Translations:

Mon Dieu = My God

Mon ami = My friend


	4. False Information?

***PLEASE NOTE*** In the flashback section of this chapter is mostly historically inaccurate. I looked up the relationships between France and England in those years and basically in every one they were having some type of problem. Because the flashbacks are meant for remembering peaceful times I didn't feel like looking up more random dates until I found one were they didn't hate each other. But there is some truth to them, like who was King/Queen at the time, and before the French revolution. So yeah, not really a history lesson. Lol. ENJOY! ***DATES ARE IMPORTANT!***

Chapter 4

_False Information?_

"_How long has it been?_" Arthur thought as England slept, "_160 years now?_" England turned in his sleep, "_Francis my darling I miss you so much. I haven't been able to speak with you in 160 years. I haven't been able to speak at all. It's so hard just being England all the bloody time. I hate this war. I hate it so much. Why am I so cursed? America and Russia get to be together. So does Italy and Germany, and Prussia and Canada, and Japan and China. Spain and Romano even got married. So why is it that my people have to hate France's?_"

England shifted in his sleep, "_Forced into my own subconscious, I can't do anything! All day I watch England -well me- agonize over the war. Always saying 'When do the lab results come in?' and 'How long until the bomb is functional?' or 'How many would we wipe out?' but the worst was that one time when I said to the army general, 'Could we get them to surrender? If we can, I want that bastard all to myself. I'll torcher him until he begs for death!_" If Arthur could cry he would. The thought of torturing his love with his own hands it was, oh it was horrible.

"_Why me? Why must I be cursed like this? Why must my people hate France so much? Of course they hate me back; I was the one who started it. My people cast the first stone. Why God, why? I know France doesn't love me, I know he hates me, I don't even hope for Francis to love me, I'm not asking for him to love me back. All I want is for this war to end. I want him to live; I want to be able to see him again, to listen to him again, to talk to him again, and not even to be friends, just acquaintances. Just to be able to sit in a room, through a world conference, without- without attacking him, that's all I want! Even to love you from afar, just anything but killing you! Please God please-_"

England yawned as his alarm went off. He stretched his arms and legs as he glanced over to his bulletin board. He had started sleeping in his office. From the second he woke up to the second he fell asleep everything was about the war.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," England called as he finished tying his tie.

"Um, England sir," a nervous assistant said, "I was told to tell you that the Queen has sent out false information to the French embassy saying that we are beginning to launch the bomb."

"WHAT?" England roared, "Why was I not told this?"

"I don't know sir –" he was cut off.

"Where's the Queen?"

"In her study sir," the assistant said frightened.

England pushed past the boy and stormed his way into the Queen's study room. She was sitting on her throne combing her hair.

"What is the meaning of this?" England shouted.

"Meaning of what?" she asked innocently.

"Why was false information given out without my knowing?"

"Ah, yes that… Well England I'm Queen now and I don't need to tell you about every little thing I do," the newly crowned Queen said pouting her lips.

Queen Riana the first was coroneted at the age of 16 in the year 2197, one year before the war began. Over the years the laws had changed in England and whoever the King or Queen was had total power. And unfortunately Riana was an inexperienced and very irritating Queen.

"That was not a little thing!"

"Well I'm mature enough to make decisions on my own!" she said crossing her arms.

"Making such an important decision without consulting another is the most immature thing you have done to date. Do you even know what you've done?" England asked trying to control his temper.

"Of course I do! What I did will make those pansies surrender like they always do!"

"Riana!" England shouted.

"And why don't you call me Queen? I am your boss!"

"Because you have yet to earn that title, especially when you sent out false information about the bomb without my permission, do you even know what you have done?" England shouted in rage, "Do you even know what that tactic is used for, a last ditch effort, a final bluff! You'd use it if we no longer had any resources, not in the middle of the damn war!"

"No! This will end the war!" she defended angrily.

"Did you even consider the case-scenarios? What if they see through the bluff and think we're defenseless and then fire their bomb? What if they think it's real and fire it first? This is extremely risky!"

Riana looked to the ground, feeling quite guilty, "Well lesson learned?" she said shakily.

"What? No! There is no lesson to be learnt! We're all going to die! And it's 'learnt' not 'learned'!" he shouted stomping out the door.

He rushed into his office; Arthur thought, "_What a foolish girl._" He closed the door behind him, locked it, and sank to the floor.

"I can't believe this-" He was cut off by his own yawn. Suddenly he had an incredible urge to go to sleep; it felt like something in his subconscious was telling him to… So he gave in. He went over to his make-shift bed and fell asleep.

"_This is terrible! I can't believe her! Of course I have to be stuck in my own subconscious when they're changing the laws of who's in charge! She couldn't rule a country if her life depended on it, which it does! We're all going to die! There's no way France will see through this! There's no hope. The chance of him not firing the bomb is so slim… But I guess if there is a sliver of hope I should hold on to it._" England then woke up, frowning as he did so.

"How am I going to prevent this?" England said to himself pacing again, "I could send out more false information contrasting to the information already given, but that quite risky too. But I've got to do something, or else France is going to fire his bomb. I can't let that happen. I can't let my people die at the hand of that wine-bastard!"

"_Get a new one Iggy, 'wine-bastard' makes you sound like Romano…_"

He walked over to his desk, which was completely covered in papers. 'Organized chaos' he called it. He dug through the pills of unopened letters until he came across one that said "Top Secret". It was from a science research facility. He ripped it open and read it as fast as he could.

"Damn! There's still a 40% risk of blowing up everyone!" he ran his hand through his hair trying to think straight, "And I still don't have any information about his bomb. It could be flawless for all I know! But if he fires I do know that it will kill me and my people; I can't let that happen," he sat in his desk chair and bit his nail in fear, "I'm going to have to fire the bomb…"

"_What? NO!_"

"I'm calling Wales." He picked up his phone.

"_No! Fall asleep! Fall asleep! Fall asleep! Fall asleep! Fall asleep! FALL THE FUCK ASLEEP!_" And with that England fell asleep in his chair.

Arthur broke down, "_Oh my God! Oh my God! OH GOD NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I'm going to kill France? No, oh please God no. I'm begging you lord, please, please, please don't make me kill him. Don't make me kill my only love! Oh my God! Oh my God! Okay, okay Arthur get a hold of yourself. Just calm down, if I can go through all this shit I've gone through and still be alive I can do this! …Okay, okay I'm calm. I've got to find a way to stop this. Okay there's a 40% of killing everyone. That's enough reason not to fire, or at least delay it. But how the hell am I going to do that trapped in my damn subconscious? _" That was a major setback…

"_Wait if I'm able to get myself to fall asleep then I can probably manipulate other things too! But wait, Carissa said that I would be forced into my subconscious because if I wasn't it would create a time vortex thing. So I guess that means I'm restricted from doing anything huge. But I've got to try. Okay how am I going to do this? Well I got myself to fall asleep by telling myself too. But I've already tried that, for years! But maybe, maybe, I can tell England about how much I love France. I haven't done that before…_" So that's what Arthur did he thought about all the times he yearned for him, the passion that dwelled with in his heart, and all the time they spent together in peace.

**1348**

"Flying mint bunny! Flying mint bunny where are you?" a young England shouted as he ran through a long grassy field.

"_Bonjour_?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Hello?" England answered looking across the field trying to find the source of the voice.

"Hello!" A young blond boy said peeking out from the tall grass.

"Oh," England said in a bit of shock from the sudden revealing, "hello. Who are you?"

"_Je m'appelle _France! My name is France! You are a nation too, _non_? What's your name?" the blond nation asked. Nations have a 'six sense' that tells them whether or not they're talking to a human or a nation.

"Yes I am. My name is England, but my human name is Arthur, Arthur Kirkland. What's yours?" England asked sitting next to the boy in a patch of shorter grass.

"My human name is Francis Bonnefoy! Quite regal don't you think?" he said flipping his hair in his hand. England giggled.

"What?" France asked.

"That thing you just did, it was funny!"

"What thing?" France asked flipping his hair again.

"That thing!" England laughed and pointed to his hair.

"Oh, you mean this?" France said flipping again, much more exaggerated. England fell on his back laughing.

"You're funny!"

"_Merci_!~"

"What that mean?"

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome?"

"No, no '_merci_' means 'thank you'!"

"Oh!" England laughed again, "You have a strange language!"

"_Non_! You have a strange language!" France said crossing his arms insulted. England pouted and tossed his head away too, then broke out laughing.

"What?" France asked.

"You're funny!"

"No! You're funny!" He retorted, pouted and looked away.

"No, not the bad funny!" England smiled, "The good kind!"

France looked back and smiled, "You too!"

"Let's be friends!" Arthur said holding out his hand.

"Okay!" Francis said shaking Arthur's hand.

**1742**

"France?" Arthur called as he knocked on France's door.

"What is it England? You know this is my beauty rest time," he heard from behind the door.

The door swung open and in the door way stood a disheveled looking France, with his hair a fray and his blue rob a skew.

"Could I talk to you for a minute?" Arthur asked.

"Sure thing," France let him inside and lead Arthur over to his couch. Grabbing a bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses France asked, "What's the matter?" while passing England a glass of wine.

"Well," Arthur said taking the glass and swirling the red-ish, purple liquid inside the glass, "George has been quiet the pain lately. He's been throwing fits over nothing, telling me everything is my fault, and he's been throwing things at the servants! I just need to talk to a sane person."

"_Oui_ my friend, I understand your problems. Marie Leszczyńska gets like that at, er… that time of the month, _oui_?"

England laughed, "How have things been going with you?"

Francis sighed and said, "It could be better. My people are hungry."

"I fear a revolution," said France.

Arthur took a hefty swig of his wine. France looked at him with his brow raised.

"What?" England asked.

"Nothing," France said waving his hand dismissively and looking away.

"What was it?"

"I was just thinking about what would happen if we had a drinking match…"

England smirked, "I'd win that's what!"

France rolled his eyes "Sure, sure."

"Oh yeah? You're on!" England said pointing his finger at him challengingly.

Nine bottles of alcoholic grape juice later, two shirts once worn by sober nations lay abandoned on the floor, a shoe was somewhere in the garden, if a butter knife was a razor they would both be bald, and England lay atop France.

"If ther;s a betar," *Hic*, "body then you'res I wouls have to have they're babys!"

"Hohoho~ there isn't _mon cher_! I 'ave ze best physique in ze world!"

"But, than that meens that I've got to got to got to to.. too have your baybies!"

"Ohohohohoho~! 'ow I would love to 'ave your babyies! But alas we are nations!"

"So what?" Arthur slurred, "If I love you, then there! Right, I love you! Fuck, fuck hour people! Their thick-thickity thick faces from Thicktown, Thickania. And so's their dad!"

"_Oui_!" France shouted in agreement, "but zat is not what I'm talking about. We cannot 'ave babyies, physically."

"Oh yeah… But still!"

Around twelve hours of sleeping later, England was waking up. **Very** needless to say his head was killing him. As his eyes began to focus he discovered that he was lying atop France… shirtless. Luckily France was still asleep. Most of England wanted to jump and quickly get off of him, but part of him wanted to stay like that. Part of him wanted to hold him close and feel his delicate skin. But the most part overtook him and he gently got off of France, a part of him sighing in disappointment.

He looked down to his feet. "Where's my shoe?"

He found his shirt and quickly put it on, because he didn't think of checking the garden, his left foot was still bare. He hobbled over to France's kitchen and looked for tea. "Tea fixes everything."

He made two cups of tea, one for himself, and one for France. He tried to remember the night before, but he couldn't. He glanced over to France's sleeping figure. His long hair was hanging over his eyes, and he slightly frowned in his sleep. Quietly England walked over to him, trying his very best not to wake him; he felt terribly embarrassed about the whole ordeal and had no idea what France's reaction would be. He gently moved the hair from France's face.

He gazed on it, the face of the 'Frenchie'. Sculpted like a statue, absolutely perfect, his nose, his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, his eyes, his neck, his collar bone, his chest, oh his chest. It was gorgeous. It had just enough muscle to slide your finger across, but not too much to get in the way. His skin was soft and delicate too; it seemed as though it glowed.

Without realizing it England's hand was beginning to trail itself down France's perfect chest. The tips of his fingers grazed along France's gentle six-pack. His fingers shivered at the touch. Once his hand reached France's trousers, he realized what he was doing and quickly retreated his hand. But that didn't stop his eyes from enjoying the view. What was underneath than layer of cloth? But more importantly, what was he thinking?

"What am I thinking?" England thought angrily to himself. "Don't think about him like that!"

But that didn't stop his mind from thinking of his lips. Ohhh, those lips; they looked so soft. They were glossy too. Arthur wondered if they were as soft as they looked. So his finger went to find out. He poked his lip, it was as soft as a pillow, so he poked it again. He ran his finger lightly over it, taking in those luscious lips. He wondered what they smelled like. So he lowered his head. His nose touched France's lips, and he breathed in lightly.

He smelled sweet, like a strawberry covered in sugar. That was when he realized how close he was to France's face. He was only a hair away. He gasped, making his jaw drop, and making the gap between their lips even smaller. England could feel France's hot breath on his lips.

"I wonder if they're as soft as I think…" England thought as he moved closer.

"_Angleterre?_"

England froze. France had woken up! He had seen England trying to kiss him! England slowly looked up, trying to think of what to say, when he saw that France's eyes were still closed. "_Angleterre?_" He was sleep-talking.

"_Angleterre_!" he said again, this time more annoyed like he was waiting for an answer.

"Yes?" England whispered, not knowing what he should do.

"Ah, there you are. You look so beautiful in the sunlight…" he muttered.

"What?" England whisper-shouted.

"I don't understand why my people think you're eyebrows ugly," England frowned at that, "I think you're sexy," Francis said while wrapping his arm over England's waist unconsciously, "especially when you're lying there like that!"

England blushed furiously. He tried to push himself off France, but he had an iron grip on him. Not knowing what else to so, and seeing that talking got a response from France he whispered, "Let go of me."

"Now why would I do that _mon cher_?"

"Just let go!" England whispered angrily.

"Oh, know I get it. We're playing prisoner! Well England you've been bad and you deserve punishment!"

"Punishment?" England asked appalled, "Let me go."

"I'm afraid I can't do that _mon belle_. You're just too beautiful to let go!"

England sighed, then blushed. Arguing wasn't getting him anywhere and he needed to get out of this situation! Desperate times call for desperate measures, "But France my dear," he whispered sensually into France's ear, "if you don't let me go than I can't undress for you…" And with that France's arm left his waist and England quickly got off France. Once he was firmly on his feet and away from France, he sighed in relief. He quietly walked toward the door, trying not to wake France, and not caring that he was missing a shoe.

There was a part in England that wished that, that wasn't France's dream and was reality.

As he opened the door, he looked at France's sleeping body, which was moving a bit. And to tease him Arthur said, "Oh, France! Your body is so amazing!"

…

**2012, December 21**

"Idiots," Arthur thought as he sipped his tea sitting in his reading chair, "The world's not going to end because the Mayans said so. How could they predict the end of the world, but not Spain coming from across the ocean? I wonder if France is freaking out like America…" He got up from his chair, fetched his house phone and called France.

"'_Allo_?" he heard France say.

"Hello France, it's England." He said.

"Ah England, nice to hear you and not America's whack-job rants about how 'the Mayans are going to come back to Earth as ghosts and kill us all'. I don't even think that's what is supposed to happen…"

"Ha! America would think that wouldn't he?"

"_Oui_, but uh," Francis said uncertainly, "why don't you come over to my place today?"

"Your place?" England asked, "why?"

"Well uh," he said in the same nervous tone, "it's just that…"

"What?" England asked impatiently.

"Uh, I'd like to eat your food!" France blurted out.

England blushed; no one wants to eat England's food, let alone France! "Really?" he asked filled with joy.

"Yes, I want you to come over to my house today because I want to eat your cuisine!"

"I'll be over as soon as I can!" he exclaimed and hung up the phone. He grabbed his coat and ran out the door. He plowed through three red lights to get to the airport. He got the next flight to Paris, and was there within a few hours. When he got to France's mansion he flung open the door, and was greeted by a bright French nation smile.

"England!" Francis said smiling, "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Of course! What would you like to eat?" he said eagerly.

"Oh right," France said frightened, "that's why I called you here for… Uh, I guess whatever you think is best."

"Wonderful!" England said clapping his hands together, "where's the kitchen?"

"Down the hall to the left," France said pointing in that direction. England almost skipped down the hall; he was so happy, someone wanted to eat hid food!

"You can get through this France!" he thought to himself, "Just eat the 'food' as fast as you can and then you can do what I intended! Which is to-"

"France!" he heard England call, "Where is the flour?"

"In the top shelf," France said as he walked into his kitchen.

One hour of things being set on fire later, England placed a platter of charcoal in front of France.

"So uh," France said as he poked the black chunk of… something with his fork, "what do you call this?"

"Scones!" England said proudly.

France stabbed the abomination of mankind with his, once was, eating utensil and brought it to his face, "Come on France! There's only one of them!" he thought, "Just eat it and we're done!" He moved the _thing_ closer to his mouth, unable to condemn himself, "Okay just chew, chew, swallow. Chew, chew, swallow. Think of it like a pill… an evil, disgusting, horrendous, soul-crushing pill…" He opened his mouth and placed it on his tongue. His face light up bright green, or purple, no red, no wait it was blue, it kind of looked black, white maybe?… okay it was all of the above.

"MY TONGUE IS BLEEDING!" He almost screamed, but forced himself not to. "SWALLOW! SWALLOW FRANCE SWALLOW! OR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!" He swallowed as quickly as he could, reached for the glass of wine beside him, and chugged it, desperately trying to rid of that 'taste'.

"Well how is it?" England asked awaiting his praise.

"Lie, France lie!" he thought.

"It was… great," he lied.

England's face light up with joy, "Really?" he asked.

"Really." France lied.

"Thank you so much!" England exclaimed. He ran from across the table and pulled France into a huge and grateful hug. France blushed.

"Uh, you're welcome," Francis said smiling, "I don't know why people don't like your food, it's excellent." And with that extra comment England turned his head from France's shoulder and kissed his cheek. Strangely surprised at this France stiffened.

And before he could say anything England released him and said, "Would you like some more?"

"NO! Uh, I mean no, you've already worked so hard. Why don't we just relax, sit down, watch the sunset?" France suggested, trying to keep his composure. England agreed and they did so.

Sitting on a lawn chair on France's enclosed balcony facing the sun set was very relaxing. England breathed in the chilled air of winter. He looked to his left, where France was staring out the glass wall and to the sunset.

"France?" Arthur asked, "Do you think the world is really going to end?"

Engrossed from the trance like atmosphere Francis couldn't help but tell the truth, "I don't know. But if it does, I'm glad I got to spend my last day with you…"

"Huh?" England asked confused about what he just heard, and the fact that his cheeks were burning, "I don't think I heard you right…"

"Oh crap!" France thought, "I forgot, our friendship has been depleting over the years… I don't want him to get the wrong idea and leave." He opened his mouth to lie but then closed it.

"But what if this really is the last day on Earth?" Francis thought solemnly, "I don't want to die lying…"

He looked over to England, a soft smile upon his face. His face was calm and he looked almost lonely. "I'm not sure if the world is coming to come to an end today. But if it does, than I'm glad that I get to spend it with my best friend." Francis said looking into England's emerald eyes, his own bright blue ones shimmering.

England stared into those shimmering blue orbs, "Friend?" he thought, "I didn't think that he still though of me as a friend…"

"Thanks," he said, "Me too."

They watched the sun set in silence. And once it had finally disappeared from the horizon England glanced over to France, whose eyes were closed. He stretched his arm out and took hold of France's hand thinking he was asleep. And promptly fell into slumber as well.

"Maybe I should call Gilbert and Antonio, just in case the world does end…" France thought with his eyes closed. He was about to get up when he felt his hand being grabbed. He opened his eye a touch and glanced to his side. He saw that it was England that was holding his hand.

He smiled.

…

"_And that's the last time. That was when I found out that I love him, but after that my people started hating France. Come on England! I know you feel the same! Overcome your people, please!_"

England's eyes fluttered open. He looked at the phone in his hands and thought, "Oh yeah I was going to call Wales to tell him about launching the bomb… But I think it's too early to make that decision. It's still too risking, and I don't have enough information…" He left his office thinking hard about the whole situation.

Part of him said, "FIRE THE BOMB! WIPE THEM ALL OUT!" and another part said, "_Whatever you do don't fire the bomb! Please, you and I both -_" and then it went all fuzzy…

"I must wait until I know if France is going to fire the bomb or not…"

As he walked through the hall his lead information gatherer can running up, a terrified look on his face. "England sir!" he shouted, "Information on the war sir!"

"What is it?" England asked.

"We obtained information that France is firing their bomb!"

_To be continued…_

I'm really sorry that the end was rushed. But I wanted to get this up as soon as I could. I hope someone got the Doctor Who reference!

_**PLEASE **_! Review!

Translations:

Je m'appelle = My name is

mon belle = my beautiful

'Allo = something people in France when answering the phone, or 'Hello'.


	5. Boom

_***PLEASE NOTE***_ To enhance your reading experience read every word with _**EMOTION**_. Thank you.

_Boom…_

The bomb had been fired.

The country of France had been obliterated, completely blown to bits. France stumbled down the ruins of Paris, his blonde hair covered in blood and soot. His once shining crystal blue eyes were dulled and sullen. His entire body was soaked in the blood of his people, men, women, and innocent children.

The buildings that once stood tall and proud in Paris, almost touching the sky lay as rubble on the ground, helpless and dead. Any buildings that weren't turned to gravel were on fire. The whole city was grey and filled with smoke, the only color there was, was blood and fire red. Thousands of bodies littered the streets. France was dying. He fell to his knees unable to stand, coughing up blood.

As the country of France died, Francis thought, "Arthur my love, I'm so sorry. I love you so much… In my final moment I hope that maybe, somehow, you loved me in some way too…"

As he looked at his dead city, through the smoke and ashes he saw a single standing figure, unaffected by the burning buildings and fire around him.

Before he knew it the figure was only a few feet away from him. It was England, with a terrifying grin on his face.

"England…"

With lightning speed he tackled France cackling with insanity. Francis eyes widened in fear, not of death but of hate.

England pulled a knife from what seemed like out of nowhere, as he pinned Francis to the ground, shards of glass digging into his skin.

"Die fucker!" England screamed as he stabbed France in his chest.

"Arthur! No!" Francis cried in agony as he felt what little blood he had left leave his body.

"Die! Die! Die!" He screamed with every bloody stab to France's already dying body.

"Arthur I'm so sorry, I love you! Please stop!" Francis begged as tears fell from his eyes.

The blows wouldn't stop. Every jab hurt more than any physical pain there was. England was killing him, he hated him. His only love hated him so much that he was killing him. France was dying in more ways than one. France saw his blood splattered across England crazed face.

England licked the blood off his lips, "Your blood tastes so good when you're dying!" He stabbed him again, "I'll be so happy once you're dead!"

He suddenly stopped and dropped his knife.

"Arthur," Francis wheezed with the last of his energy, "I love you…"

England lowered his head to Francis' ear and whispered, "I hate you."

"NO!" France screamed as he shot up from his bed.

He was dripping in cold sweat, his heart was beating faster than it even did before, "A dream?" he questioned as he looked at his hands.

He cushioned his face in his hands. And wept.

…

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock* "France? France, you've been in there for days. You've got to eat something." Louise waited for an answer, but as usual she heard no response, "I'm leaving food outside." And with that she left.

_A few days prier…_

"Louise," France asked from across a desk covered in papers and files of information and research, "What's the success rate on the bomb?" hoping to God that it was low.

"37%" That was French engineering for you…

"There's too much risk," Francis said doing his best to suppress his joy, "We'll have to try another option…"

"What if we sent false information? Try to bluff them in to surrendering?"

"That's extremely risky Louise, England might think the information is true and fire his bomb first."

"Yes, but what if the information said that our bomb can be launched in a day? From the information we got it would take them another two weeks before they could fire it! And with that they'll surrender!"

"Surrender?" France asked, hoping what would come next wasn't what he thought it was.

"Exactly! And when they do we'll make those bastards our slaves!" She exclaimed, her eyes turning to fiery rage.

"Slaves?" Francis thought, "Slaves! I can't make England my slave!"

"What do you mean slaves?" Francis asked looking out the window to hide his face. He couldn't keep it from looking terrified.

"We'll make them slaves! And we'll put England in prison! Those bastards deserve it! That's what they were planning for us, so we'll do it to them... Unless you want us to kill them?" Louise asked.

"No!" Francis shouted turning around, "I mean we might as well make use of them."

"Yes you're right. Would you like to have England to yourself?" she asked with an honest look on her face.

"What?" Francis asked shocked and confused.

"I'll keep it under wraps France, don't worry. I know of the hatred you need to lash out on. You deserve it. You can torture him all you want. I could even give you your own chamber, if you'd like." She suggested 'kindly'.

"Oh dear God," Francis thought, "How cruel are my people? She looks like a child asking if I want a cookie… How sadistic have they become? But I have to put that aside for now, if he is my… slave than at least he's alive…"

"Yes, I would like that," Francis lied only saying that to keep him alive, "I think that is what we should do. How long will it take to send the information?"

"It will take three days for it to go in to circulation and wind up in their hands. But we'll have them in ours soon enough."

"Let's just hope this doesn't get us killed," Francis muttered walking out of the room.

…

"How could I have done that!" Francis thought sprawled out on his bed, "Slaves? How could I go through with that? I'm a monster…"

Tears fell from his eyes, which were red from his sobbing, "I love him. And I've condemned him and his people. How could I have done such a thing? He's my love, my one and only love. I love him so much. I cry because he hates me, but now I'm going to kill him. I'm a monster. I should surrender, but Louise won't let that happen… 'How could you even ask that France? Do you not know that if we surrender than your people will die and be tortured? I will never surrender!' She does have the final say…"

He slammed his fist down on his bed, an unsatisfactory _thwump_ echoing through the empty room, "I'm a monster. I'm a failure. I should have realized my love sooner! I'm not strong enough. I'm a murderer! I'm killing my only love! He's going to die, so I can live!"

He sat up.

"I should be the one to die."

He slowly turned his head to his left, where his bed side table lay. Inside of it was a sword he kept for safety measures. It was an old sword. It was his first sword. It was plated in sliver and its grip was golden.

Originally he had it made specially to kill England with.

His hand slowly moved over to the shelf, "I'm a monster…" He reached for the sword.

"I can't let my love die."

He brought the sword to his chest and placed the tip over his heart, "If I die than England will be safe. If I die than my love will live."

His breathing was heavy. He was in a trance like state, completely engulfed in his own thoughts. He was about to take the final strike when…

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock* "Francis? It's me! Your boss called and said you haven't been eating. I'm coming in!"

Prussia used his lock picking skills and the door opened. Prussia saw France sitting on his bed, with a sword at his heart. He saw France pull back the sword to kill himself; he dashed over to France and tackled him.

"What the fuck dude?" Prussia screamed grabbing the sword from his hands.

Tears grew in Francis' eyes as he saw Prussia, "Gilbert," France said from beneath Prussia's grip. He realized what was happening. He remembered the outside world and his friends. His trance broke.

"I need to tell you something. But you must promise me never to tell anyone this."

"Yeah, sure man, what's wrong?" He said pinning France to his bed.

France's eyes were ice cold, "Swear on your country." He said bluntly.

Prussia's eyes grew and his body stiffened.

Swearing on your country was the highest promise a country could do. It was more important than any document a country could sign, and was only used between countries. That promise was a connection from one's soul to the others. If it was broken you were hated forever, and never would be trusted again, by anyone. It was never taken lightly.

Many countries went their whole lives without taking this oath.

Prussia paused and gave France a weary look.

He nodded and answered, "Francis, I swear on the blood of my country that I will tell no one what you are about to tell me."

Francis looked into Prussia's eyes, still pinned down underneath him. His golden blond hair covering his eyes and whispered, "I love England."

"What?" Prussia asked completely confused.

More tears fell, "I'm in love with him Gil. And I just realized it. I love him and I have no idea what to do."

"Francis…" Prussia trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"And I just sent false information, so he would surrender," Francis started choking on his words, "and if he does than- than he and his people will become my slaves! He'll be in my war prison!"

France started to weep.

Prussia hugged him, and Francis sobbed, "I'm a monster! I'm a monster! I should be the one to die not him!"

"Don't think that Franc-" he was cut off.

Francis shot up and screamed angrily, "I LOVE HIM GILBERT! I LOVE HIM!"

His anger quickly dissolved and started crying again.

"Francis," Gilbert said, "I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It'll be okay."

"How?" Francis said through sobs.

"You've got to tell him how you feel."

"Tell him I love him? Are you insane Gilbert? He **despises** me! He wants to kill me! He thinks I'm trying to kill him!"

"Listen if you're going to take him captive you can explain yourself, and then try to get him his country back! Break him out of prison, free his people." Prussia explained.

"He hates me," he whispered.

"That may be," Prussia said seriously, "But you love him. I can see that, Francis. You love to be with him, you love who he is, you love his faults and quirks. It's like how I feel about Mathew. So I know that it's better that he lives in... that situation than dying."

"He will hate me forever."

Prussia looked at France's terribly sad eyes, they looked mournful. He was right, there was no denying it. He could only say, "I'm sorry…"

Sobbing again Francis could only mumble incoherently, "I'm not strong enough. I'm a monster. My love, my only love. I should be the one to die."

"Get a hold of yourself Francis!" Gilbert shouted, shaking France, as if trying to wake him up.

"You are the country of fucking love! _Amour_! France listen to me, you'll fuck anything that moves, but you have never _loved_ anyone before. But now you are! I can see the passion in your eyes Francis, it's like fire! It's like me when I'm protecting Matthew. Nothing will stop you, because you're fighting for the one you love. You can do this!"

"Gil," Francis said quietly, "I think I need to be alone."

Prussia got up from the bed and walked to the door.

"Gil!" Francis called.

"I swore on my country France, no one will know." He took another step and said, "You're strong France, stronger than you realize. You can do this. And don't you dare kill yourself." And with that he left.

France stared at the closed door Prussia had gone through. He fell on his bed, flat on his back. He wore a face he'd never worn before. One of complete and utter determination.

"I'm Francis Bonnefoy, I'm a nation, I'm in love. And I will not be beaten!"

He slammed the door of his bedroom open.

He marched down the stairs, ignoring the shocked looks from everyone around him. He looked like he was going to war, a war for love.

He grabbed the phone and called Antonio, "You're going to pick up." He ordered in his thoughts.

"_Holla_!"

"Antonio," Francis said steadily, "I need you here. Now."

"I told you Francis, I'm out of the war. I-"

"Spain." Francis pleaded.

"…I'm coming."

He marched over to his library, closing the door behind him. He walked to the very back of the library, which had floor to ceiling book shelves. In the bottom right corner was a pocket sized book labeled 'Romeo and Juliet'.

He took it and placed it in his pocket, "This will be no tragedy," as a reminder of what he needed to do.

He marched to his office, shut the door and moved to his desk. It was covered in papers concerning the war.

With one swipe of his arm he pushed them all off the desk, letting them fall to the floor. He grabbed a stack of papers and a pen. For hours he wrote strategies of how to break England out of prison.

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock* "Francis! It's me!" Antonio said opening the door.

He looked up from his work, exhausted but as determined as ever. "Antonio, good you're here."

Antonio opened the door carefully and looked at France with a serious face, "You haven't called me Spain since I married Lovino. What is wrong?"

France gave Antonio the same thing he gave Prussia, only he didn't weep just gentle tears strolled down his serious face.

"So you can't get the information back?" Antonio asked after his shock subsided.

"No. And he's probably already gotten it. If not now than by tomorrow he will have it." He answered grimly, looking at Antonio's eyes.

"He hates you, you know," Antonio said, only able to give honesty.

"I know," he answered as tears rolled sown his face, "I know." He was about to go into another sobbing fit when he felt 'Romeo and Juliet' in his breast pocket and stopped himself, "But, but I have to try."

Antonio smiled and placed his hand on France's shoulder, "Than you'll be fine; you have resolve. You may be known for surrendering France. But I know who you are Francis, you will keep fighting until you win."

Francis looked at him confused.

"For hundreds of years I fought for Lovino, to be with him, to keep him safe, because I love him. When you love someone, truly love someone, nothing can stop you. I know you don't understand because you _thought_ that you loved many times before. But this, this is true love Francis. That aching in your heart when they are away, the feeling of gravity pulling you down until you fall to your knees when you fail to make them happy, the endless supply of tears when you see them sad, those are the feelings you'll have when in love. Those are feelings you've never had, until now… Am I right?"

"Yes, yes you're exactly right."

"The more you love that person the more intense the emotions are. You will do anything to make that person happy. You will fight and fight and fight."

"But I'm not strong enou-"

"Listen to me," Antonio stared into Francis' eyes, "When you're in love you WILL fight until you win. You. Are. In. Love."

"Thank you Antonio!" Francis cried as he hugged his Spanish friend.

"Any time Francis. But I've got to get home to Lovino. Keep fighting, never stop fighting."

And with that Antonio left and all the hope Francis felt.

"He hates me. And he'll never forgive me. I really should be the one to suffer… '_You're strong France, stronger than you realize._' '_Keep fighting, never stop fighting._' I won't. I'll never stop fighting. For you my love, Arthur, I will overcome anything."

_To be continued…_

…

Yay! I hope you liked! Please review! It was pretty hard to get the emotions across, and I hope it wasn't too rushed… Tell me what you liked, want you didn't like, anything! It makes my day!

**AlbinoOkami**: So France, what's it like to be in love?

**France**: Emotional. And what's with the 'known for surrendering' comment?

**AlbinoOkami**: Oh come on I'm French! I can make a surrendering joke if I wanna!

**France**: And why are you making me enslave Arthur! How cruel are you to do such a terrible thing!

**AlbinoOkami**: It's all in the name of a good fanfiction France! All in the name of a good fanfiction!

XD


	6. Arthur Kirkland

Arthur Kirkland

The courier looked at England with terrified eyes, "We obtained information that France is firing their bomb! Today!"

"W-what?"

_France is firing their bomb…_

_France is firing his bomb…_

_France is going to kill me…_

_Francis is going to die…_

_No…_

_No…_

**NO!**

An unbearable pain shot through England's body, right to his core. He felt like he was being struck by lightning.

"ARGH!" England screamed clutching his head, falling to his knees.

His head felt like it was going to implode. It felt like someone was inside it and franticly pounding on the walls of his brain, trying to get out. His nerves were numb, but they felt colder than hypothermia, "AHH!" he screamed in agony.

The courier looked at him shocked, sure it was bad news but he doesn't need to act like something that was trapped inside of his subconscious for hundreds of years was breaking the spell that was cast upon him by the most powerful, and last time fairy, or anything like that…

"England sir?" he asked hovering his hand over England's shoulder.

Still clutching his head in pure pain, England started glowing golden white. His whole body light up like a star. His hair was floating like as if there was no gravity surrounding his body.

England's hands fell from his head. He stopped screaming and his eyes looked hallow. His whole being seemed hallow as if someone took his soul from his body. His eyes glowing crystal blue, his head was tilting up as if someone was moving him. He took in a long, deep breath and when he breathed out a puff of crimson smoke fled his mouth. And he stopped glowing.

Coming back to his body, trembling he looked at his shaking hands.

"Hello?" he asked confused.

In complete shock, due to the scene he just witnessed the courier asked, "Mr. England? Sir, are you okay?"

He turned his head on his own accord and looked at the courier. His eyes widened and jumped up. He grabbed the courier forcefully and shook him furiously.

"Quick! Ask me what I think of France!" He ordered.

"What?" the courier asked totally lost.

"NOW!"

Scared he asked, "What do you think of France?"

"I love him!" Arthur screamed at the top of his lungs, thinking he needed to force the words out, but they flew from his throat with ease. He was free.

Silence fell, he let go of the courier and fell to his knees again.

"I'm free?" he whispered to himself.

"Mr. England? Please tell me what's happening!"

"I'm free!" he yelled jumping up and spinning around.

Without giving an explanation he dashed through the halls of Buckingham palace, overwhelming with joy. His feet dashed across the floor, running through the hall unable to keep still.

"Francis my love," he thought as tears of joy swelled up in his eyes, "I'm finally free! I love you so much! I can talk to you again as me!"

He leaped over a table that was in his path, "No more hate! No more hiding! No more lying! No more bloody England! I can speak to you, see you, touch you, hug you, kiss you! I can feel your hair in my hands. I can stare into your gorgeous eyes. I can feel your body next to mine. I can tell you how much I love you, I can tell you what joy you give me, I can tell you all the things I've had to hide!"

"I'm free! I'm free bitches!" Arthur yelled in joy.

"England what are you doing?" Riana asked seeing Arthur running with joy.

"I'm free! I'm finally fuckin' free!" Arthur said grabbing the young Queen.

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about!" she shouted, "We're all going to die!"

Bam. Arthur was running a thousand miles per hour and out of nowhere a brick wall appeared. He was flying through the sky at the speed of light and he hit the glass ceiling. He was set free, into a battle field. Fuck.

"What?"

She look at him angrily, "What do you mean 'what'? Frog face is firing his God damn bomb! We're all going to die!"

"No…"

"_I hate you, you terribly disgusting scum!_"

"_Never step foot into my country again, British pig!_"

"_I hope you die a slow and painful death! Because that's what you deserve!_"

"_You want to declare war? Fine. I've been wanting to kill you!_"

"_I hate you._"

"France! Francis! No!" Arthur yelled once he realized that he was released into his very own hell.

He shoved pass the Queen. And bolted through the red and gold palace, his legs carrying him to who knows where. Tears flowed from his eyes; it felt ironic because he felt like he was over flowing with a devastating sadness.

"My love my one and only love, he's going to kill me. The man who makes me so happy hates me so much. GOD DAMN IT!" He slammed his fist down on the waxy wooden floor, breaking it and sending shards of wood through the air.

"Everything's lost. There's nothing left! I'm going to die," angry and raw tears dripped from his face, "Why can't I be happy? Why God, why? Why won't you let me be happy? Why won't you let me love? It's… it's just not fair… I know I'm a nation, but I'm a person too… Fine then God, if this is the curse you've given me then fine… I'll just wait here for my true love to kill me…"

The memorizes of his life flash across his eyes. War, rage, death, famine, fear, pain, sadness, all things he was too familiar with. But in between all the sadness was happiness, him. When he was a new nation France was there, his strange and funny ways...

_"You're funny!"_

_"No! You're funny!" He retorted, pouted and looked away._

_"No, not the bad funny!" England smiled, "The good kind!"_

_France looked back and smiled, "You too!"_

_"Let's be friends!" Arthur said holding out his hand._

_"Okay!" Francis said shaking Arthur's hand._

…the time he heard France dreaming about him…

_"I don't understand why my people think you're eyebrows ugly," England frowned at that, "I think you're sexy," Francis said while wrapping his arm over England's waist unconsciously, "especially when you're lying there like that!"_

…and when he sat with Francis, watching the sun set, and waiting for the world to end…

_"I'm not sure if the world is coming to come to an end today. But if it does, than I'm glad that I get to spend it with my best friend." Francis said looking into England's emerald eyes, his own bright blue ones shimmering._

"Francis," Arthur sobbed, the memorizes overwhelming him, "my love you always made me happy. No matter what when I was with you I could smile. I know everything about you, the real you, Francis. And I love everything about you. You really are my true love…"

There was one last memory…

"_Remember: keep fighting; never stop fighting for true love."_

…before Arthur fully came out.

"NO!" he screamed ripping himself up from the floor, "I WILL NEVER STOP FIGHTING FOR MY LOVE!"

There were no walls, no barriers. There was no Queen. There were no people. There was no nation of England. There was only Arthur, Arthur Kirkland, the human being.

His feet slamming down on the wood floor below him, he flew to the exit. He had a face on that he had never had before. Many people would say that Arthur was his scariest, or sexiest, in his pirate days because of his face. Just one glance and you were as good as concurred. But this face… Oh this face it was, it was…

Nothing was going to get between him and his love.

This was the most angrily determined Arthur had ever been. His eyes looked like they were on fire, a green burning fire. His fists were clenched and he marched across the halls.

He slammed the twenty foot* high entrance doors open. The blazing sun light shown in his burning eyes. It didn't faze him one bit. All Arthur saw was an empty city. He was no cars, no people, no animals. It was just him, his love, and the distance between them.

Marched down to the gate of Buckingham palace where dozens of tourists stood. The second they saw Arthur, by pure instinct, they cleared a path for him. He walked in a straight line, not seeing the terrified people to his left and right.

Walking straight into the road all of the cars stopped, immediately, not because they didn't want to kill the man walking into the road but because they knew if they came to close they would die.

He walked, no marched through London, not as his capital but as just a city. He easily found the airport. And what nation wouldn't have their own private jet at the airport of their capital?

He slammed the door of the cockpit closed and planted himself down on the pilots' seat, flipping the switches into their correct positions. He grabbed the wheel and started flying high up into the sky.

"I won't give up!"

He stared at the sky in front of him, wearing an enraged face of determination. He was taking on the world, a part of himself, and the love of his life.

He flew over the barren streets of Paris and touched down on the abandoned road. Jumping from the jet he took no time to take in his surroundings. He didn't notice that there were no people walking in the streets or cars in the road. He didn't give himself time to remember. And he didn't notice the owner of a British pub walking in front of him.

*Blonk*

"Oh my, sorry mate! Didn't see you there. Why are you in such a big hurry?" Jack said extending his hand to help Arthur up.

Arthur's strange haze-like state began to clear when his vision focused and found himself staring up at a human, a human being.

"I-I…" he stuttered, feeling very confused, standing up again.

"Hey no problem! I'm sure you have your reasons. Well you better get going to where ever you're goin'! Being in a hurry and all."

Arthur looked into the man's eyes. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes.

"Why do I want to tell him what's going on?" Arthur questioned himself, confused by the strange urge to spill his heart out to the man in front of him, "I don't even know his name…"

"You are… British?" Arthur asked bluntly, judging by the accent.

"Born and raised!" Jack responded cheerily, used to being asked that question.

"Why are you in France?" Arthur asked slowly, his brain still trying to understand how to talk with people again.

"Well, y'see I had this crazy plan. And I thought if I went to France and opened a British pub then I could show the French that we're not so bad."

"Do you hate the French?" Arthur asked shyly.

"No, of course not! 'Judge people by how they act, not from where they're born.' That's what I say."

"Do you know?"

"I don't think I know what you're talking about."

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, do I know you?"

"In a way I guess."

"Huh?"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland the personification of England."

"Huh?"

"I'm Arthur Kirkland the personif-"

"No, no I get that part. What I'm not getting is why are you telling me this?" Jack asked.

"I'm not sure," Arthur said looking confused, "But for some reason I feel like I should talk to you."

"Well, do you mind if I ask you something, about the war that is?"

Arthur looked down, feeling guilt ridden. He never should have let England over take him, "Sure."

"You didn't really want this war, didn't you?"

"No. I don't."

"It's not because you don't want to die, isn't it?" he asked calmly.

"No. That's not why."

"It's because you love him. Right?"

Arthur looked up at him, "Yes."

Jack smiled at him solemnly and placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, "How about you come in."

Arthur nodded and they walked into to bar. Jack led Arthur to a table and they both sat down.

"How long as it been?" Jack asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"How long have you loved him?"

"Since the day I met him."

"When did you realize it?"

"I think I first realized it was on December 2012, when we thought the world was going to end. He wanted to be with me just in case it was the last day on Earth. And when I started to think about it, I found myself never wanting to leave him. Once I thought that then I realized that whenever I was with him I was happy, and free to be myself, my human self."

"You know my grandfather met you," Jack said changing the subject abruptly, fetching a bottle of rum.

"He did?"

"Yep," he said pouring the alcohol in to two glasses, "apparently he saw you talking to France, well more like fighting..."

"When was this?"

"Around 2145. France was saying something about how you were the 'black sheep' of Europe'. He said when he looked into your eyes, while you were strangling him, he didn't see hatred he saw this feeling longing. He knew that you loved him."

"Oh," was all Arthur could say.

"So Arthur, tell me what are you doing here?"

"I've finally broken free after hundreds of years… I came here to tell him that I love him."

"Then what are you doin' sitting here in my pub?" Jack asked resting his head on his hand.

"I-I don't know," Arthur said looking lost.

Arthur had been trapped you 160 years in side his own subconscious. He had finally broken free. At first he was high as a kite. Then he was ripped back down to Earth. Feeling defeated and cursed the last bit of determination in side of him came out and he decided that he would keep fighting. In his desperation he was engulfed in his own world, not even noticing the people in front of him. But when he bumped into Jack he was brought back and he felt confused, like a child in a new city.

"Look at me," Jack said looking into Arthur's eyes, "I can see that you're hurt and scared," Jack smiled, "but something is telling me that it's going to be okay."

"B-but he hates me…" Arthur's eyes began to water.

"You can do this Arthur!" Jack said standing up, "Just go out there and tell him! If you tell him you love him then it'll be fine!"

Arthur looked up at him, "How do you know that it's going to be okay?"

Jack threw his fist in the air, "My gut's telling me! The gut doesn't lie! I know it, I just know it. It's like I already have all the facts. It's going to be okay!"

Arthur looked at Jack. And for some reason Arthur trusted him.

"Your right," Arthur said standing up, "If I don't even try then I'll never know. I've got to do this. I love him!"

"That 'a boy!" Jack said slapping Arthur's back, "Now go to him Arthur! Go and tell him you love him!"

"Right!"

And with that Arthur ran out of the pub and down the streets of Paris. When he reached the Palais de l'Élysée a guard screamed, "Ahh! _Angleterre_!"

He pointed his gun at Arthur and said, "S-stay b-back y-you British p-pig!"

Arthur glared at him angrily. He had had enough of people stopping him from getting to his love. "Move!" Arthur warned.

"N-no!" the guard said shaking.

Arthur punched him square in the jaw. The guard flew to the ground, losing a few teeth.

As Arthur walked through the door he looked back to the guard that was lying on the ground and said, "Oh, and I'm not England. I'm Arthur Bloody Kirkland!"

_To be continued…_

Oh my God I'm so sorry for the slow update! A lot of stuff happened all at once! I got sick, I had to write essays, write essays for my brother… But anyway I hope you liked it. Review and tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, anything!

*6.096 meters


	7. Forbidden Love

This chapter is dedicated to Edd Gould. 1988 – 2012 You were an inspiration. Rest in peace and God bless you.

…

Forbidden Love

"He hates me. There's no denying it. He will never love me, not after what's going to be done to him, the chains, the torture, the humiliation, the pain, _his_ people_ my _slaves. He will be a prisoner of war because of me. And he will hate me forever. He will be disgusted and insulted by me when I tell of my love. He will never ever forgive me… But I have to… I have to save him. I can't let him die. Even if he hates me because I love him." It kept repeating in Francis' head, over and over again.

Everything around Francis felt heavy and pressing, yet unreal. He had been pacing in his office for hours. The room felt distorted. He didn't think about anything but England. He knew what was coming. He knew that he had to enslave England. He knew that England would hate him forever. He knew that England was never going to love him. He knew that when he would tell England of his love that he'd either laugh, disgusted by France, or just spit in his face. The only other option Francis could think of was England asking for forgiveness and not be imprisoned. He knew it all. But he had to…

He had to keep fighting for his love.

If saving his love from the clutches of his own people and keeping him alive and happy meant that England would hate him forever, he would make that sacrifice. He had to sacrifice his own happiness for his love's.

He would keep fighting, but for now all he could do was to sit and wait.

…

The Palais de l'Élysée stood tall in the abandoned city of Paris. Its beauty was astounding and its architecture magnificent. It was home to President Louise Antoinette and her country, France… France, Francis Bonnefoy, Arthur Kirkland's dream and worst nightmare.

Arthur stared and the twenty foot high door to the palace, clenching his hands into fists. So much was going through his mind, failure, fear, hate, rejection. He knew France hated him. He knew that everything was going to go wrong. But he had to keep fighting. He had to.

He grabbed the giant golden leaf handle and flung the door open. The air was heavy and the corridors were narrow. Everything seemed grey. There was no light. Arthur felt cold. He was truly scared.

"_France. I'm in love with you._ Just say it," Arthur told himself as he rounded countless corners, too flustered to think straight, "Just say it and then…" Arthur's thought stopped there; he couldn't bear to think of what was to come, for he knew it was rejection.

He climbed up a flight of stairs and at the top was a large white door, light fluttered from the open space between the door and the floor. It was the first light Arthur saw since in the palace. Arthur slowly inched his way toward the door; his body shaking. His hand placed on the door knob he opened the door and he saw him. There he was, right in front of him.

France was pacing back and forth over his antique red carpet, biting his nails. His eyes were darting from side to side. He was deep in thought and he didn't even notice Arthur walk in the room. He looked how Arthur felt, nervous, a very, very, scared nervous.

Part of Arthur was glad that France didn't notice him coming in. But part of him made him feel even more anxious.

"F-France?" Arthur whispered, inching closer to the nation in front of him. Francis didn't notice him. He just kept pacing back and forth, mumbling something.

All Arthur could make out was, "_J'ai peur_… _Dites-lui_... _Mais je dois_…"

"I might be scared. A-and I know that he doesn't… he doesn't…" Arthur back stiffened and he shut his eyes, "But I have to be stong. I have to do this!" He clenched his fists, took in some air, held his breath, puffed up his chest, and took a few steps toward Francis.

"France," he said loudly, stopping Francis' feverish pace and gaining his attention.

Francis turned his head hearing the voice of his the person he loved and feared. He stopped biting his nails, his hands fell to his side, and his eyes widened as he gazed at Arthur.

"_Angleterre_?" Francis asked his voice broken, stunned, and unprepared for his love, whom despised him, to appear right in front of him.

"France," Arthur said. His eyes widened. He really could talk to him.

"_Angl_- uh, England," Francis stuttered.

All Arthur could do was stare. His manly and sturdy rouse, puffed chest and broad shoulders, faded the moment he met with Francis' eyes.

Arthur couldn't control his body; his legs just moved on their own. There were three steps and then, before he knew it, his body was right next to France's. His arms were pressed up against Francis' chest and his head was right in front of Francis'.

"F-France," he stuttered unable to control his breathing, "O-oh my God, France." Arthur had to shut his eyes and look away. He couldn't handle looking at France's face.

Francis' eyes were beyond wide. England was right in front of him, _right in front of him_. England's fists were grabbing his shirt as the rest of him pushed itself up against his body.

"France," Arthur said gripping Francis' azure shirt tighter, "I'm so sorry."

"Of course," Francis thought, "He's begging for his peoples' lives. Nothing more…" Francis' face fell.

Arthur opened his eyes, lifted his head, gazed into Francis' eyes and finally, desperately said, "I love you."

Francis didn't say anything. He didn't move. His face didn't change from stone blank.

Arthur shut his eyes he couldn't look at that face, "France, I'm so sorry! But I love you. I'm in love with you! I have been since the day I met you! B-But I couldn't- Oh God I'm so sorry France. I love you. And I know that you h-"

Arthur felt rain drops fall on his face. He opened his eyes and saw that Francis was crying.

"Fran-"

"England please," Francis interrupted, "I know that you're just doing this for your people. And y-you will get your country back, in time. But…"

Arthur felt a steady stream of tears fall upon his face, "…But please just let me have this moment."

Francis moved his arms across Arthurs back, hugging him. He held Arthur close to him, afraid to let go. Even if this moment was fake – a rouse England put on to save his country – Francis wanted that moment to last forever. He held him tighter as the tears came out more and more, in a silent cry.

"Doing this for my people? What do you mean?" Arthur asked bewildered. Why was France crying? Why was he hugging him?

Francis let go of him. He took a few steps back and said, "You're lying. I know you're lying. Just, just lying." Francis' head fell.

Arthur took a step closer to Francis, "What makes you think I'm lying? France, I-I'm in love with you." The words were even more painful than Arthur thought they would be.

Francis' hands clenched into fists as more tears fell, "_Please England_," he said raising his voice, "_Stop lying_; I can't take it," he whispered.

"I'm not lying!" Arthur said desperately, "I've loved you since I met you. I haven't loved anyone but you! I love you! …I don't understand what's happening!"

"England!" Francis' screamed with voice raw and tattered, "Stop, now… please. You'll have your country back. I give you my word as a nation. So please stop lying."

Arthur looked at Francis. His heart shattered when he heard Francis' say his countries' name so distantly. It was detached and filled to the brim with hate… or sorrow. Arthur felt so scared. He had no idea what happened. Why was France saying that he was lying? Why would he say that? He was so lost.

"France… I am not lying! Please tell me what's going on!"

Francis looked at Arthur, his eyes red from crying. His head was tilted and eyes were slightly squinted and he said, almost hissing, "Why are you doing this? You have my word that you'll have your country back. So why do you keep torturing me?"

"Torturing you?" Arthur asked, "I don't understand!" Arthur's hands gripped his head in frustration and confusion.

"This can't be happening." He thought, "Why is this happening? I knew that he would refuse my love, but not like this! What is happening? Why is he saying that I'm lying? How am I torturing him? I would never want to hurt him! Why, why God won't you just let me love him?"

"Please God, just let me love him…" Arthur pleaded falling to his knees, his head to the floor as the tears overflowed from his eyes, "Damn it all Francis, I love you!" he shouted.

"Francis?" he asked lifting his head, "Why did you call me 'Francis'?"

Arthur looked into the longing sapphire eyes, "Because I'm not just a nation Francis; I'm human too. And so are you. I'm saying this as Arthur, the person not the nation," Franics' eyes widened at his words, "My people hate yours but I, Arthur, I love you Francis. I love who you are, I love were your heart is, I love who you strive to be, I love your compassion, I love your quirks, I love your thoughts, I love your ideas, I love your passion, I love your kindness, I love your morals, I love your smile, I love your laugh, I love seeing you happy, I love everything about you. I love _you_ Francis."

Francis' eyes returned to their natural blue state as tears gently fell. The raw emotion Arthur had shown him broke through all walls that Francis had put up in fear of rejection. He could tell that Arthur was speaking the truth and only the truth.

"Arthur," Francis said stepping closer to him, "is this true?"

"It couldn't be any truer. Francis, I've been madly in love with you since the day I met you. I'm so sorry it took me so long to realize it. But it was my people. I couldn't tell you because-"

"My people made it so I couldn't," Francis said interrupting Arthur.

Arthur looked at him shocked, "How did you know that?"

"Because that is what happened to me."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked stepping closer to Francis' welcoming body.

Francis placed his hands on Arthur's arms, holding him there, "You have always been my best friend, even when you were my enemy. You were always there for me when everyone else abandoned me, even when my people hated you… even though my people hate you."

Francis inched even closer to Arthur making their bodies only a hair apart, "Your strength and kindness always astounded me. All the things you've been through, the Black Plague, countless rebellions, corrupt monarchy, the Blitz, King Edward the 5th – a child - murdered due to jealousy, fear, loneliness, unlimited wars that _I_ forced upon you, and yet even though you've been through all that you were still kind and pure. And you were there to be my friend."

Arthur stared stunned as Francis looked down on him, uttering words he thought would never be spoken, "Heh," Francis chuckled sadly, "France – the nation of _l'amour_… I can't believe it took me so long to realize it." Francis leaned his head to Arthur's, placing his forehead on his.

Arthur could feel Francis' hot breath against his lips and that beautiful gaze upon him, he was so close, "Arthur," Francis said.

"Yes, Francis?" Arthur whispered staring into his eyes as his heart beat faster and faster.

"I love you," Francis' said quietly.

And with that Arthur couldn't take it anymore. The emotion he had been forced to suppress for years had finally been unleashed and his love just told him that he loves him. The gates of Heaven had opened.

He smashed his lips against Francis', grabbing his head and holding him there. Francis widened his eyes in shock at the outburst. But after a few moments he grabbed Arthur's back and glued their bodies together and kissed him desperately. His legs already like jello Francis couldn't help but trip, toppling him and Arthur to the floor. Their lips didn't part for a second. Arthur was a bit shocked at the sudden change in action but it didn't faze him one bit.

Francis was kissing him back passionately. Every touch was electrifying. Arthur could feel every touch or change of position like a pulse washing through him. Their lips melded into one perfect kiss. Arthur's hand snaked through Francis' hair, felling the soft and silky blond hair across his fingers. Francis massaged Arthur lips with his own, caressing and moving meticulously.

As Arthur was breathing in that wonderful scent of Francis, of crescents, and roses, and beauty, he was completely entranced. There was nothing in the world but this moment, no world, no war, no people, no fear, no pain, I don't think he remembered his own name. But all that mattered was that he was with his love.

Francis tongue traced across his bottom lip asking for entrance and Arthur happily obliged. He traced along Arthur's teeth, the roof of his mouth, his gums; he traced every inch of his mouth. And as much as Arthur was enjoying attack on his mouth, he had been waiting for this moment for hundreds of year, and he was going to have his way.

Arthur pushed past Francis' tongue with his own, and gave Francis the same treatment. Each movement was filled with love and compassion. Francis' was in complete bliss. Arthur loved him and was showing his love to him. Arthur loved him and he wasn't going to become a prisoner of war… A war prisoner? A slave? The torture, the pain, the agony, all the memories came rushing back to Francis.

He was going to enslave him. He was going to torture him. He was going to make Arthur's people his slaves. Arthur was never going to forgive him.

The pleasure that consumed his body turned into guilt and agony. How could he be so selfish, kissing Arthur when he knew that he would soon be his slave and hate him forever? He ripped his head from Arthur's, breaking the kiss abruptly and leaving Arthur shocked and confused.

"We need to talk," Francis said, making Arthur even more worried. Had he done something wrong? Why did Francis do that? Did he not love him? That was the case a few minutes ago. Everything was going so fast.

Francis took his hands from Arthur's hips and got himself up. He offered Arthur his hand for assistance and he took it. Francis' hand was warm and gentle, Arthur didn't let go when his feet were firmly planted on the ground. Francis looked at their intertwined hands then to Arthur.

"S-sorry" Arthur said timidly.

He began to pull his hand away but Francis stopped him, "No! I'm glad that you're holding my hand." Arthur's shy smile grew.

Francis led him over to the couch and set him down.

"I should start with what happened," Francis said as he sat beside Arthur, "I think it started when I went to the English pub." Arthur gave him a confused look.

"It was in the middle of Paris so I was confused and curious. The man who ran the place was English; he said that he set up shop because he wanted to show the French that the English weren't so bad. I haven't met a man so kind in a very long time. After I warmed up to him he asked what I thought of the war. He asked what _I _thought of the war, it was like he knew there was a human part of me… And then that's when I said it. 'I think this war is… terrible.' That was the first time I spoke as myself in a long time."

Francis held Arthur's hand tighter, "After that it was a snow ball effect. I realized more and more about how much I love you. When I realized it, I was so happy; I didn't even remember the war that was going on around me, that you hated me to the point of wanting me dead and buried. But then reality hit me. It hurt so much."

Francis looked into Arthur's eyes, his own beginning to tear up, "But it made sense, cruel, cruel sense. My people hate you. I am a nation. A nation is made in its peoples' image. But we also have free will, a human soul. I love you Arthur. _I_ love you Arthur." By this point tears silently fell from Francis' twin blue eyes.

"But then… Oh God I'm so sorry Arthur… we got information that you were going to end things… badly. Louise became set on sending false information that we could and would fire our bomb in one day, so that you would surrender and become… slaves. It was the only option to keep you alive, so I had to agree. Every second past that day I worked on plans to get you and your people out of prison as quickly and as I could. Now that you know this… I know that you hate me. I am so, so sorry, but I love you from the bottom of my heart. And I will always."

"Francis," Arthur said as he watched each tear drop fall as they poured down on Francis' smooth pale face, "I couldn't hate you if it was the last thing I could do. The person that should be hated is me. I've been so cruel to you Francis, throughout my whole life. I brought this war on you. I wasn't strong enough. I should have broken that spell long before I did."

"What spell?" Francis asked whipping the tears from his face.

"A long time ago a fairy came to me," Arthur waited for the rude look, but one never came, "She told me that I would start a war that would destroy the world. She locked me –Arthur- away in my subconscious. She said 'When you are strong enough you will break free and, hopefully, end the war.' She said something else but by that time I couldn't make it out. I'm so sorry Francis."

"You have nothing to be sorry for!" Francis said as he threw himself into Arthur's arms. He hugged him and held him tight, "I love you so much Arthur. A-and I know this is selfish," he said through sobs, "but please, oh please forgive me."

"Francis you are more than forgiven. I love you so much!"

They held each other as they cried, not tears of joy or sorrow, but of release. Everything was held in for so long and everything that was wound up so tight was released all at once.

After all of their tears had tried Francis kissed him and looked hard into his eyes, "I'm going to end this war."

Arthur smiled and nodded. Francis whipped out his phone and called his boss.

"Louise, get hold of every news station you can get."

"Francis?" Louise asked, "You're speaking again? Ever since we got the made the decision you've been locked up in your office."

"Yes! Now do it!"

"Okay…" Francis put his phone away, grabbed Arthur's hand, and rushed out to the balcony.

"Arthur," Francis said looking to the star-light sky, "I love you more than all the stars in the sky. I love you more than the ocean is wide and deep. I love you more the ever expanding mass of space. I love more than anyone I've ever loved."

"Yes," Arthur said leaning his head on Francis' shoulder, "But how many cats?"

Francis looked at him, "How many cats?" he repeated.

"It's something I would say when I was little."

"Arthur," Francis said holding him tight, "I love you an infinity of infinity number of cats."

"I love you more."

…

And on that day the war of Forbidden Love ended. That's what they called it after everyone found out that France and England were in love with each other, well Francis and Arthur. But once the war was over England and France also fell in love.

The world was shocked when they announced the war had ended. No one accepted England and France appearing on television and announcing, "_This war is over_!" And then there was them trying to explaining that they were all along in love. Oh, and that Arthur was trapped in his subconscious by the last time fairy.

But given some time every one accepted it, except the fairy part…

…

Thank you everyone for reading 'til the end! It's a real honor that anyone would take time to read my story! I hope that you enjoyed it!


	8. Update

_**Update!**_

I told you guys I was going to re-write this, and you're damn straight I did! It took me two years to do it, but I never tell a lie! That's right; I'm updating this on the two year anniversary of this fic! After _two years_ of writing I've improved _drastically _as an author so I decided to redo chapter one. It is now over 7,000 words long and _far_ better than what it was! (That shit was terrible!)

I really do love this story. So I wanted to do it justice. I worked on this chapter for over six months while writing 'Pure Violet Is Killing Me'. Yes this has been my secret project all this time! And I work fucking _hard_ on it!

So before you go and read it, [which you totally should by the way, it's fucking awesome] I just want to thank every single one of you who has read my stories. You don't know how much it means to me. Every time I think that someone smiled because of what I created, it… it makes my heart soar! As you guys know making people happy with my writing is my dream. And to think that it's actually coming true… it means so much to me. Thank you! Thank you all so much! From the very bottom of my heart I truly say: _Thank you!_

_So here's to two years of writing and to many, many more!_

_-The Author_

(P.S I swear to God if I don't get one God damn new review… You fuckers aren't gonna get new shit for like a month. 'K thanks~)


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